Welcome to Cincinnati
by Mellowslinky
Summary: "I didn't even realize who it was until she was crouching in front of me: the woman I saw talking to Officer Puckerman before. Suddenly the rain wasn't pounding quite so hard against my body because she was sharing her umbrella with me, holding it up over both of us." Brittana A/U
1. Chapter 1

**a/n: Just a little warning-ish type thingy :) This is my attempt at writing a neo-noir crime-fiction fic. There will be times when things might seem a little bleak, for lack of a better word. But if you stick with it, I promise you a lot of sweet moments too and a happy ending :) Also, I'll be taking a lot of liberties in describing the geographical and topographical particulars of Cincinnati in order to fit the demands of the story. This 'version' of Cincinnati should be regarded as almost entirely fictitious. Hope you like the it! :)**

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**Chapter One**

Nobody was paying attention to me. I knew that, and I guess I wasn't paying attention to them either. Everything seemed decidedly far away. There was a woman two seats away from me who was yelling in a language I didn't recognize. It was unsettling – despite how far removed I felt - and I dug my fingers into my thighs to distract myself.

"You okay, Ma'am?"

His voice startled me more than it should have considering it was barely audible over all the commotion. I was sitting, so he towered over me where he stood and he was looking down at me with a goofy smile. He ran his hand over his buzz cut as he waited for my answer.

"Um, yeah, thanks," I croaked. My voice was a little hoarse from not speaking for so long.

I was expecting him to leave after that, but he didn't. He sat down in the seat next to mine, between me and the yelling woman. He was braver than I was.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked, "Coffee?"

I glanced to my side and looked at his chest rather than his face. His name badge said _Puckerman _but for some reason that I couldn't quite fathom, I didn't want to call him that. "No thank you, Officer," I mumbled.

"I've seen you before," he informed me, "You've been around here a lot lately, huh?"

It had been a month and I'd lost count of the number of times I'd been in that damn building, so I just nodded in response.

"Have you been to the desk?" he asked.

I nodded again.

"You should go back up there," he told me. He was so matter-of-fact that I looked at him again. "They've probably forgotten about you."

I glanced away from him and towards the desk. I knew he was right; I wasn't stupid and I'd been in there enough times to understand how it worked. By that point I was pretty low down on their list of priorities and there were other people who needed their help too. I would wait my turn.

"I'll wait," I told him.

"Suit yourself," he replied. When I looked at him, he was still smiling.

A door opened on the other side of the room, adjacent to the front desk, and I recognized the dark-haired woman who came out of it; I had seen her around there before. She always looked so serious and I wondered if it was because she had a serious job.

Officer Puckerman jumped out of his seat as soon as he noticed her and made his way over there without another word to me. He smoothed out the creases in his uniform with his hands and when he was close enough, the woman handed him a piece of paper. She wasn't wearing a uniform like he was, just a white blouse tucked into black pants, and it made me wonder if she was his boss. Schuester and Hudson didn't wear uniforms either and I knew they both had people they were in charge of. They were too far away for me to hear what they were saying, but as they spoke, the woman glanced at me - and for reasons I wasn't sure of, I felt compelled to look away.

"Miss Pierce?" A man's voice called. It was Schuester again and my heart sank a little – I should have known right then that I wasn't going to get anywhere. I grabbed my purse from the floor and stood, regardless. My butt was cold and numb from sitting in the same place for so long and when I walked I was a little stiff.

He ushered me into an interrogation room - at least that was what it looked like. It had a black and white checkered floor like my Grandma's kitchen and a mirror that took up most of one wall. I'd been in that same room before and I knew Schuester was going to ask me to take a seat before he actually asked me. Detective Hudson followed us and stood with his back to the door wearing blank expression on his face, but Schuester sat opposite me.

"What can we do for you today, Miss Pierce?" he asked me with a smile that was, at best, insincere. He didn't want to be there, or rather, he didn't want _me _to be there. The tips of my ears burned.

"You said not to come back unless I could prove my sister's note was a fake," I mumbled. Sergeant Schuester's jaw tightened as he gave me a curt nod. "Well," I opened my purse and pulled out the notebook I'd been carrying with me all day, "I found her diary." I handed it over to him but he didn't open it. "The note's inside, so you can compare," I prompted.

He huffed out a breath and ran a frustrated hand through his hair before finally opening the book. The note fell out onto the table and he picked it up and laid it flat over one of the pages so that both sets of handwriting were side-by-side, but he barely looked at them.

"I'm sorry, this isn't enough to go on, Miss Pierce," he told me, shaking his head.

"What?" It came out louder than I was expecting. My heart rate picked up. _Thump, thump, thump_, it went. Like an egg bumping up against the side of a saucepan. "How can you tell just by looking at it for a second? Don't you need to get the forensics people to look at it and compare the handwriting and all that stuff?"

Schuester chuckled mirthlessly, which only made my heart sink further, before turning to Hudson. "Hey, Hudson," he drawled, "Don't you love it when these kids watch a couple episodes of CSI and think they're experts?"

"Sure do, Sarge," he responded. I didn't look at him but I could tell he was smiling too. They were laughing at me.

"I'm not a kid. I'm twenty-five," I muttered.

"I'm sorry?" said Schuester. He was making a conscious effort to keep a straight face.

With as much confidence as I could muster, I placed my hands palm-down on the table, "You _promised_," I told him. I held his eyes for a moment and I watched him make the decision to humor me.

He sighed and turned to Hudson again. "Go get Hummel," he ordered. Hudson left the room and Schuester and I sat in uncomfortable silence for the few minutes it took him to return, accompanied by a large, bald man with eyes like a basset hound - all droopy and kind. He was wearing a nicer suit than the other two men in the room; his tie was fastened right to the top and his jacket actually matched his pants.

Hudson returned to his former position by the door while the man – _Hummel? - _took the empty seat next to Schuester. "Miss Pierce, this is Police Lieutenant Hummel," Schuester introduced us.

"I understand your sister's missing," said Hummel. He offered me a small, sympathetic smile and I felt decidedly more at ease with him talking to me.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he told me, "Detective Hudson informed me that the night she went missing, you also discovered most of her possessions were gone, too? And that there was no sign of forced entry or any kind of struggle and that she left a note _explaining_ that she was leaving."

I gulped because I knew where this was headed already. "That's r-right," I stuttered.

"But you believe she was abducted?" He wasn't secretly making fun of me the way the others did. Even if he didn't believe me, I was grateful for that.

"Yes," I nodded again.

"Why _is_ that?" he asked.

"Because she would never just leave," I told him.

Lieutenant Hummel shifted in his seat and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Look, I know this probably isn't what you wanna hear," he said gently, "But the people we're closest to are usually the ones who are most capable of surprising us _because _we think we know them – what they would do, what they _wouldn't _do. But the truth is, you never really know what's going on in someone's head. Maybe your sister just felt like being impulsive for once."

I shook my head and looked down at my hands. Hearing that probably didn't hurt me the way he thought it would, simply because I didn't believe it. Hell, it's not like I didn't _want _to believe it. Didn't they understand that?

"That note isn't her handwriting," I mumbled.

I watched Schuester slide the diary and the note towards Lieutenant Hummel, who picked up the piece of paper and glanced between it and the book a few times. I watched his hands as he did so. They looked like roots of trees, all dark and well-used. Far more aged than his face. "These look pretty similar to me," he said. My eyes snapped up.

"_Similar_ isn't the _same_!" I pleaded, getting up out of my seat. I slammed my palms down flat on the table. "She didn't leave. She _wouldn't_! She could be out there right now with some psycho. Hell, she could be lying in a _ditch_ somewhere for all we know-"

I stopped short because my chest started to tighten and the last thing I needed in that moment was to have a panic attack. The three men in the room were already looking at me like I was crazy. My pulse was still thumping and I hated it. I hated my own heart for reminding me it was there when it would have been so much more practical to forget.

"I'm sorry, Miss Pierce," Lieutenant Hummel said. I believed he was genuine but it didn't make me feel better. I watched him get up and leave the room with a heavy heart because that was the closest I had come to getting somebody to actually listen to me.

As soon as he was gone Schuester turned back. "You should leave now, Miss Pierce. I think you've wasted enough of our time," he told me.

He unceremoniously slid the book and the note towards me and I gaped down at them for a moment before scooping them up and stuffing them back in my purse. Hudson escorted me out of the room and the contrast in noise levels made me feel like I was stepping into a wind tunnel. That lady was still yelling. I should have been used to it by now, really, the place was always like that at night.

Hudson tried to take me all the way out of the station but I told him I could leave by myself so he let me go. It was still raining outside. It was _always _raining, and it made me cold even through my jacket. I took the steps down to the sidewalk at a snail's pace. Everything was heavy. My legs felt as if they were being weighed down by concrete blocks.

When my feet touched the bottom step I wasn't sure what to do. I knew I should go home; I was cold and wet and tired and I'd never felt more hopeless. There were cop cars everywhere, and police officers running between the cars and the station so that they didn't get too wet. They all seemed so busy but some of them still looked at me curiously.

I saw a bench on the corner where the sidewalk met the steps so I headed for that and sat down, hugging my purse to my chest. I stared down at my shoes and my hair fell forward so I watched drops of water fall from the ends and onto the pavement by my feet. There was a never-ending line of them and it made it seem like time wasn't moving, somehow. That was my problem – I never had enough time.

I heard her heels clacking against the sidewalk before I saw her but I didn't look up because it didn't occur to me that she would want me to. I didn't even realize who it was until she was crouching in front of me: the woman I saw talking to Officer Puckerman before. Suddenly the rain wasn't pounding quite so hard against my body because she was sharing her umbrella with me, holding it up over both of us. The way she was crouching looked awkward because she was trying to keep the bottom of her beige overcoat from touching the ground, but when I looked at her face, her lips twitched upwards at the corners and it was obvious she didn't care _that _much. Her eyes were the kind of dark that could have been really cold or really warm.

Hers were really warm.

"Are you waiting for a ride?" She had to yell a little to be heard over the rain and traffic and sirens.

I shook my head, "No."

"You're walking?"

"Uh-huh."

She frowned at me. "Why?"

"My roommate had the car today." I wasn't sure if I'd said it loud enough for her to hear me, but she nodded regardless.

"Miss Pierce, right?"

"Brittany," I corrected. I was sick of being called _Miss Pierce_.

"I'm Detective Lopez," she told me, "I saw you before." I think she was trying to justify talking to me. She was a cop, so her concern was normal. I tried to force a smile. "Why are you sitting out here in the rain?" she asked.

I just shrugged in response. I honestly didn't know.

"Are you okay?"

I nodded and answered, "Yeah."

She frowned again, and then she looked up and down the street a couple of times before focusing back on me. "You don't look okay."

She wasn't asking this time, it was a statement, and it made my heart clench and my throat tighten. Suddenly I wanted nothing more than to lean forwards and rest my head on her shoulder. Maybe she would wrap her arms around me and tell me nice things, or maybe she would push me away. I didn't do it, of course, I didn't do _anything_ - this woman was a stranger. But for the first time in a month, I felt something other than frustration. Sitting there looking at her, I _wasn't _frustrated; I was empty – I could have died from how relieving it was.

"C'mon," she said as she stood, "I'll take you home."

I went with her because I didn't have the energy to argue.

Detective Lopez drove a brown Ford Taurus. It suited her, somehow, because it managed to be fancy and understated at the same time. It was the kind of car I would have imagined a detective driving when I was little.

I slid into the passenger's seat and I had to move a bunch of fast food wrappers and Styrofoam cups and old newspapers to make room for my feet. It made me smile – a _genuine _smile. Detective Lopez looked a little sheepish as she closed the driver's side door and threw her umbrella onto the back seat.

"Sorry about the mess. I kinda have to eat on the go," she mumbled as she fastened her seatbelt.

"It's not that bad," I said. I smiled at her as she turned her key in the ignition.

"Where d'you live?" she asked.

"Clifton," I answered, "Bleaker Avenue."

"That's a nice street," she stated as we eased away from the curb.

"I dunno, we've been robbed three times," I mumbled in response.

I heard Detective Lopez snort a laugh but when I looked at her she was shaking her head and definitely _not _smiling. "Yeah… welcome to Cincinnati," she muttered.

"I think the people who do it think we're rich or something 'cause it's sort of a nice neighborhood. But our house is pretty small so who knows." I shrugged and began picking at my fingernails for something to do.

"Why don't you move if it's that bad? Somewhere else would probably be cheaper."

I hesitated for a moment before I answered. Not because I minded telling her, just because I wasn't sure if it was appropriate. And then I remembered that I was too tired to care.

"It was my Grandma's," I told her, "She died last year and left the house to me and my sister. We thought we were gonna have to sell it at first 'cause we couldn't afford the mortgage payments, but then my friend moved in with us and… we manage, I guess." I sucked my lips into my mouth when I'd finished speaking and Detective Lopez was quiet for a moment, glancing at me quickly before looking back at the road.

"Your Grandma must've loved you a lot, if she left you her house…" she said softly.

I looked down at my hands in my lap. "Yeah, she was the best," I murmured. "My sister still lived with her and I think she just wanted to make sure we had somewhere to go."

She nodded, and then she did that thing where she looked quickly at me and then back at the road again. "I'm sorry about your sister," she said quickly.

"Thanks," I almost whispered. I wasn't surprised that she knew, exactly. I was sure everybody at the police station had a good laugh at my expense every time I left.

"I… believe you," she added quietly, almost hesitantly, when I didn't say anything else. Her words seemed to cleave right through my chest.

"You do?" I looked at her but she didn't look back, just nodded.

"Scheuster and Hudson are assholes," she muttered. We paused at some stop lights and then she let out a heavy breath, relaxing back in her seat. "I would help you if I could, but it's not really my department."

I shrugged in response. "It's okay," I told her. And in that moment… it _was_. It was enough that she believed me.

"Brittany, this is gonna sound really stupid," she said, "But you _have _tried her cell phone, right?"

I frowned at her but she looked like she was expecting it. "That was the first thing I did."

She nodded as the light turned green and we eased forward again. "I'm sorry. We have to ask the obvious stuff first."

I didn't say anything else, but I kept looking at the side of her face as she drove. She was asking me questions because she believed me and she wanted to help, even if she couldn't. It was more than I could possibly have hoped for.

"Her name's Jessica, right?" she asked, gentler than before.

"Yeah… _Jess_," I said with a nod.

"You're close?"

I nodded again, "Uh-huh." Detective Lopez nodded back and I looked back down at my hands.

"Does she have a boyfriend, or anything?"

"No," I shook my head, "She was kinda seeing this guy, but I don't think it was serious. He's only called like, once since… it happened."

"So, there's no chance she could be with him?"

I shook my head, "No."

"Okay," she sighed and we were quiet again for a few moments, so I watched the wipers as they swished back and forth across the windshield. The rain hammered really hard against the roof of the car and being able to see and hear how awful the weather was outside, but not actually feeling it, made me warmer.

"What about work?" Detective Lopez asked, "Have you spoken to any of her co-workers?"

"No," I shook my head, "She doesn't work. She's a senior in college."

"Right," she said, "So her classmates? Have you tried the dorms?"

"I talked to her classmates when it first happened. None of 'em knew anything. And she doesn't live in the dorms. She lives at home with me and Sam."

"Sam's your friend who moved in?"

"Yeah."

She nodded. "Okay," she said quietly, "And what does Sam think happened?"

I swallowed down a gulp and glanced over at her, but again, she didn't look back. I knew what she was really asking. "You mean, does he believe me?"

She hesitated before nodding. "I won't think you're any less credible if he doesn't," she assured me.

I shrugged. "He says he does, but I think he's just trying not to hurt my feelings," I told her.

"And what about the note?" she said.

My heart jolted right through the middle of me, even though there was nothing accusatory about the way she said it. "She didn't write that note," I told her, "I know she didn't."

"Okay," she bobbed her head up and down, "But was there anything significant in it? Any hints as to where she might be going?"

I shook my head. I didn't see how it was relevant, what it said, if my sister didn't even write it – but I trusted Detective Lopez had a reason for asking. "It was pretty short. It just said she needed to get away for a while."

She didn't say anything again after that; I don't think she knew how to respond, so I decided to ask what I'd been wanting to ask since she'd first brought it up. "How d'you know about my sister?" I said.

She squirmed a little in her seat and huffed out a breath before answering. "I looked at your file," she replied. I looked at her with a furrowed brow and she gave me a quick shrug. "I heard people talking about you and I was curious."

I guess that made sense. I would have been curious too if I'd heard people talking about somebody the way they probably talked about me.

"Which house is it?" she asked a few moments later.

I was a little thrown by the question at first, but when I looked out of the window I realized we were on my street. My heart sank. I didn't want to be home yet because I didn't think she'd asked me enough questions to be able to help.

"Uh… the little green one on the end," I told her reluctantly.

Detective Lopez pulled the car over outside my house and cut the engine. She took something out of her breast pocket as I unbuckled my seat belt and then held it towards me. It was a card. "I want you to take this," she said as she handed it over. It had her name on it - _Detective Santana Lopez - _as well as a phone number and the Cincinnati Police Department logo.

Her name was Santana.

Her fingers grazed mine as I took the card and my stomach flipped. I was so surprised by it that I made a quiet, muffled noise that I then tried to cover up by clearing my throat. "Um, thank you," I said.

"That's my cell phone, so you can call me whenever. I know I said I can't _officially _help you, but if _you _were to find something yourself…" She didn't finish. I think maybe she was a little afraid to and I didn't blame her.

I nodded. "What kind of a detective are you?" I asked.

"Homicide," she told me, "So I wouldn't be assigned to your sister's case even if they took it." Her eyes were soft and I knew she was saying that to make me feel better, but it didn't work. I didn't want to think about the reason why.

"Thank you," I told her, turning the card over in my hands.

"You already said that," she replied. When I looked back at her, her lips twitched upwards almost imperceptibly and my face suddenly felt very hot under her gaze.

I nodded and wrapped my fingers around the straps on my purse. "Right… g'bye," I stammered as I opened the door.

Her smile grew a little and she turned her head so that she was facing forwards again instead of looking at me. "Bye," she returned.

I got out of the car and the engine started up again as soon as I'd slammed the door shut. I heard her drive away as I trudged up the path towards my front door. I wanted to watch her leave but I didn't; the rain was so heavy by now that I probably wouldn't have been able to see her car properly through my squinted eyes anyway.

Sam was on the couch playing his X-box when I got inside. It was the one he'd bought right after his PlayStation got stolen the last time we were robbed. I peeled off my jacket and shook my hair out like a wet dog.

"Hey. I've been trying to call you," he informed me without looking away from the TV screen.

"My phone's off," I replied.

"Where've you been? Didn't you finish work at like, nine?"

I went and dumped my purse on the coffee table before answering. "Police station," I told him. I knew he wanted to say something back, but he didn't. "I'm gonna go change," I said.

I went into the bathroom and pulled yesterday's pajamas out of the hamper because I hadn't had time to do my laundry yet. When I'd changed out of my wet clothes I stepped in front of the mirror and immediately regretted it. My skin was sallow and pale and my eyes were sunken. As I poked at my face I figured I shouldn't really have been surprised. I couldn't remember the last time I'd got a decent night's sleep.

I walked back into the living room and dropped down on the couch next to Sam and he immediately paused his game and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. I didn't feel it as much as I usually did. My drooped onto his chest and I closed my eyes.

"Any luck this time?" he asked.

I didn't want to tell him about Schuester and Hudson and Lieutenant Hummel and how I was practically laughed out of the room, just like all the other times, so I decided to tell him about Detective Lopez.

"I met this cop who believes me," I murmured.

"You did?" I think he tried – unsuccessfully – to keep the surprise out of his voice. It was sweet.

"Yeah. She gave me her card."

"Well, that's something," he said. He scratched my head affectionately and I nodded, then we were quiet for a few moments. I think he was waiting for me to elaborate but I wasn't sure how to explain. "We'll find her, Britt," he mumbled.

He was so certain. I wished I could be like him sometimes. "You promise?" I whispered.

He nodded and I felt it against the top of my head. "Yeah, I promise."


	2. Chapter 2

**a/n: Lieutenant Hummel is BURT not KURT. A few people thought he was Kurt so I just thought I'd let you know :)**

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**Chapter Two**

Sam and I pulled up outside _Chang's Bar and Restaurant _just before noon. He'd come home on his lunch break to give me a ride to work and I guess it was sweet, but it made me glad that day shifts were a rarity. I didn't want him to feel like he had to take care of me. And usually when I worked evenings, Sam was home in time for me to take the car myself.

"You get off at eight, right?" he asked me.

"Uh-huh," I nodded.

"You want me to come pick you up? Or I could just leave the car here now?"

I shook my head. "I thought you had plans tonight?"

"Well... yeah... but-"

"It's okay," I cut him off, "I like walking."

Sam paused for a moment before his shoulders slumped. "Okay. But you'll call me if you change your mind, right?" he asked me.

"Of course." I promised. I flung the door open and then hopped out of the car, knowing full well that I wouldn't. Sam drove away in our little, green Fiesta, and then I headed inside quickly so that the rain didn't make me too wet.

Mr C was already behind the bar. He smiled when he saw me, and then beckoned me over to where he was watching a football game on the TV he'd recently had mounted on the wall. There were no customers yet. There never were until late afternoon.

As I approached he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I need you to take inventory before we get busy," he told me in his thick, Chinese accent. He spoke with a smile, just like he always did. It was the kind of small thing that somehow still filled my heart with an inexplicable warmth.

"That'll probably take a couple hours," I warned.

"It's fine." He waved his hand dismissively so I made my way out back to put my things in my locker.

/

I'd been in the stock room for around an hour when I felt something touch my shoulder. I'd been so absorbed in what I was doing that I let out a muted cry and cowered away from whatever it was. As I turned, Mike snatched his hand back, but he was smiling. And I tried to smile too even though my heart was still hammering.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he apologized.

"It's okay," I huffed.

"I uh… I kinda need to talk to you about something," he stammered, "But if you're busy I can wait 'til your break." He looked a little sheepish as he spoke so I took the dishtowel he had tucked into his apron and hit him playfully on the arm with it. He grinned as he took it back.

"It's fine. What is it?" I asked.

"Well, um," he rubbed his hand uncomfortably over the back of his neck, "I asked Tina out on a date and she said _yes_."

My lips pulled up into a smile at that. It was good news. I remembered being a little confused when Mike had first confessed to me the secret love he harbored for Mr C's daughter. It was a long time ago, now, but up until that point I had assumed they were brother and sister. It was a relief, to say the least, when I finally found out that they weren't.

"That's great, Mike," I told him. I leaned my shoulder against one of the shelves and he did the same opposite me.

"Yeah," his cheeks pinked a little, "Well, I was just thinking, you know… about _us_?"

It suddenly dawned on me, what he was getting at, and I felt really silly for not understanding right away. "Oh… right. Yeah, of course." I nodded and turned back towards the stock. I started sifting through bottles although I wasn't really sure what I was doing.

"Just, I don't think it's right for me to start dating someone if we're still… you know?"

I nodded again. "Of course. That was what we agreed, anyways. It's fine." I had to force my smile, despite how happy I really was for him.

It had just been nice, knowing that I didn't _always _have to sleep by myself. It was a small comfort that I would miss.

He put his hand on my wrist to keep me still. "You don't seem fine," he said softly. He was trying to let me down gently, and treating me like I was made out of glass the same way everybody had been the past few weeks. I was both angry and grateful.

"Mike, I'm really glad you asked her," I told him. And even as my heart was sinking, it was the truth.

Mike kept watching at me for a moment before relenting. He sighed and let go of my wrist and then he leaned in to kiss me gently on the cheek. "Me, too," he said, before turning on his heels and heading back toward the kitchen.

The door swung closed and I gazed after him as I felt a dull ache begin to grow behind my eyes.

/

I liked working when it was busy. It seemed to be only time I could stop thinking about other things. The place had been packed for the past couple of hours but there was a small break in the amount of customers we had at the bar, so Tina came up behind me and rested her chin on my shoulder. I knew it was her because she spoke right away. "Guess who asked me out," she said.

"Uh, Mike?" I played along.

"How'd you know?" she chirped as she stepped away from me. I leaned against the bar and Tina hopped up so that she was sitting on it.

"He told me," I replied. I was suddenly very glad that Mike and I had decided to keep our _relationship _a secret. "Are you excited?"

She beamed at me and it was almost contagious. "Uh-huh. He was really adorable - I think he's nervous 'cause of my Dad." She rolled her eyes and I smiled.

"That's silly. Your Dad's the sweetest."

Tina nodded in agreement as she swung her legs back and forth. "He's gonna cook me dinner at his apartment this Saturday. I can't wait."

I didn't know what to do with my hands, so I picked up an empty glass that was sitting on the bar next to my arm. "I guess that's the good thing about dating a chef. You don't have to go out if you want a fancy meal."

Tina looked like she was about to say something back, but then something behind me seemed to catch her attention. "Hey, your admirer's here," she whispered loudly. She hopped down onto the floor and left abruptly to go serve somebody at the other end of the bar. I turned to find a face I recognized heading towards me.

I had to lean over the bar a little as he got closer because his wheelchair made him too low for me to see, and he grinned up at me. It was a cute smile that I would have found charming a few weeks ago. "Hey, Artie. What can I get you?" I asked.

"Blue Moon, please." He adjusted his glasses as he spoke. I got him his drink and put it on his tab but he didn't leave right away. I knew he wouldn't. "Busy day?" he asked.

I felt terrible for wanting to be left alone, but I couldn't help it. "Yeah, a little," I said with a shrug.

There was a pause, but he must have picked up on my tone because he gave up pretty quickly. "Well, I should probably get back to my friends, now," he informed me.

I bobbed my head. "Enjoy your drink," I told him and then I watched him wheel away across the wooden floor. He sat at a table by himself and I quickly made myself busy before he could look back and realize that I'd noticed.

/

I was wiping down the bar where a customer had spilled their beer when she came in. I had to do a double-take because I couldn't quite believe she was there, but it was definitely her. Detective Lopez was standing by the door and she smiled a little when she spotted me. She walked toward the bar slowly, and I felt my heart rate pick up.

Neither of us said anything at first - I just watched her as she sat down on the bar stool directly in front of me. Her hair was a little damp and her coat had spots all over the shoulders that were darker than the rest of the material. It was obvious that it was still raining outside.

"You work here?" was the first thing she said. Her lips were pulled up slightly at the corners and I couldn't stop looking at them.

"No, I just really like bringing people drinks and mediocre food," I answered. My voice shook a little even though I'd tried so hard to keep it even. I hated it because Detective Lopez was as calm as a monk.

Her smile grew. "Well, d'you think you could bring me a diet coke?"

I nodded and grabbed a glass from underneath the bar. "Sure. You want ice?"

"I would _love _ice." Her little smile was still there and I wasn't familiar enough with her yet to know if she was being playful or if she was making fun of me. I set her drink down on the bar in front of her and she paid with a twenty dollar bill, but when I went to give her her change, she refused it. "Keep it," she said.

I looked down at the money in my hand. "That's too much," I told her, "I didn't even do anything." No one ever gave me tips that big.

I held the money out towards her again but she shook her head. "I don't like carrying around a bunch of change," she said, "Just keep it."

That didn't really make any sense because most of it was bills. I hesitated for a moment before slipping it into the pocket on the front of my apron. "Then you have to let me pay for your next drink," I told her.

She took a sip of her diet coke and then set it down with a playful smirk. "Actually, I was thinking about getting a burger. But if the food here is so _mediocre_…"

I couldn't help but smile at that as I remembered all the fast food wrappers on the floor of her car last week. "Well, I know McDonald's and Burger King set the bar pretty high, but Mike's food's all right."

She flushed a little and then shook her head. "It's okay, I'll eat at home," she murmured.

"So, you'll let me buy you a drink?"

She shook her head again. "I can't stay, actually. I really only came in to see how you are."

Without warning, she seemed serious and my heart rate picked up again. I looked down and shrugged. "I'm okay," I told her.

"I thought you might call, but you never did."

When I glanced at her she looked sad and sorry and confused all rolled into one. "I didn't wanna bug you and chase you away," I said, "You're the first person who's taken me seriously."

Detective Lopez offered me a sympathetic frown. "You wouldn't chase me away," she told me gently.

I shrugged and started wiping down the bar again. I needed to be doing something with my hands. "You said if I could find out stuff for myself, you would help me, right?" She nodded so I continued, "I don't even know where to start." It came out almost as quiet as a whisper, but it was the truth. I was completely lost.

"All right," she nodded, "Well, that's what I'm here for." She brought her glass to her lips again and tipped her head back as she chugged down the rest of her drink. When it was all gone she wiped her thumb delicately across her bottom lip and set the glass back down on the bar. "_But_," she said pointedly, "Right now, I need to leave."

My brow furrowed and I stopped what I was doing as I watched her get up off of her bar stool. "_Leave_?"

"Uh-huh. What time d'you finish work?" she asked.

"Uh…" I glanced down at my watch, "In like, an hour," I answered.

"Okay, I'll be seeing you very soon," she told me. She turned and walked away before I had a chance to ask her any of the things I wanted to know; like how she even knew where I worked in the first place.

I was still staring at the door, seconds or maybe minutes after Detective Lopez had left, when I felt something soft hit the side of my face. It was a dishtowel and I looked in the direction it had come from to find Tina glaring at me. She gestured towards the bar where a queue was now forming, so I shook myself out of my daze and helped her.

/

It was still busy when I'd finally finished my shift, but I didn't feel too bad about leaving because Marley had come in to take over from me. As I stepped outside I tugged my hood up over my head and held it there so that the wind wouldn't blow it back down again.

I don't think I was even halfway down the street when I spotted Detective Lopez's car. I probably wouldn't have realized it was hers if she hadn't been leaning against the hood, her umbrella shielding her from the rain. She'd parked under a streetlamp and the droplets of water that fell through its light were cast white. For just a second, I forgot how miserable everything was.

As I got closer I slowed to a stop and Detective Lopez smiled at me. "Get in," was all she said, and without waiting for me to follow her instruction she pushed away from the hood of the car and walked around to the driver's side door.

For some reason my legs felt rooted to the ground until she was inside. I stepped slowly toward the car and when I was close enough, the passenger door sprung open. Detective Lopez took her hand away from the handle and slumped back down in her own seat so that I could get in.

"How come you're still here?" I asked her once I was safely inside. I took down my hood and glanced over at her.

"Waiting for you," she answered matter-of-factly. I couldn't help but notice how much tidier the car was this time and I wondered if I'd embarrassed her earlier. I hadn't meant to.

"All this time? I thought you said you needed to leave?"

"Yeah, to finish off some paperwork." She tapped a small stack of paper that had been placed haphazardly on the dashboard, "Which I did."

I nodded. "How did you know where I work?" I asked.

Her mouth twitch upwards at the corners before she answered, "I have ways of finding things out."

_Right. _She was a cop. Her coat was splayed open and I looked down at the police badge attached to her belt for a moment. When I didn't say anything back, Detective Lopez spoke again. "I sort of had to drive past on my way home from work anyways, so I thought I may as well drop in."

I frowned and looked back at her face. "The bar isn't anywhere near the station."

She breathed a silent laugh and shook her head. "You should be a detective," she teased.

I felt the tips of my ears burn at her words, so I folded my hands in my lap and looked down at them. "Sorry," I mumbled, "I didn't mean t-" I shook my head. "…I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she said, "You're anxious. I get that."

I looked at her face and tried to smile and Detective Lopez huffed out a breath.

"Anyways… I wasn't at the station, I was at the hospital. I had to visit the morgue," she told me.

"The _morgue_?" My brow furrowed.

"M-hm. For work, like I said."

I remembered her telling me that she was a homicide detective. I guess it just hadn't sunk in, how gruesome a job that probably was. "What happened?" I whispered. I knew my eyes were wide.

Detective Lopez studied my face for a moment before her shoulders slumped downwards. She leaned forward and lifted the stack of paper on the dashboard just enough to slide out a light-brown file folder from underneath it. It looked like she was deliberately trying not to let me see inside as she opened it up and took out a photograph.

"Kitty Wilde," she said as she handed it to me. It was just a picture of a blonde girl. I gazed down at it for a moment and the girl stared back at me, grinning from ear to ear; and even though I knew that something terrible had probably happened to her, I took comfort in the fact that she looked blissfully unaware.

"She's pretty," I mumbled.

"_Was_," Detective Lopez corrected, "She was murdered a couple months ago."

I gulped. "How old was she?" I wasn't sure why I was asking, really. Whatever her age, it was still the worst thing I could imagine.

"Twenty-six," she answered.

"And you're trying to catch the killer?"

"That's right," she huffed.

"Are you close?" I let my hands drop down into my lap, still holding the picture, and looked over at her.

She slowly shook her head. "Not really," she admitted, "But when your superiors are cock blocking you at every turn it's not really surprising."

I frowned. "What d'you mean?"

Detective Lopez chewed her lip and looked away from me. I thought maybe she didn't want to elaborate and I was about to tell her that she didn't have to but she spoke before I could.

"Sometimes people don't believe me either." Her worry lines sunk into her forehead when she looked back at me and it made me want to take her hand and squeeze it. "I think whoever did it is gonna do it again."

I swallowed thickly. "Like… a serial killer?" I almost whispered.

She slowly nodded.

My heart began jack-hammering inside my chest. "Why do you think that?" I asked.

"Because this murder is really similar to one that happened a few years ago," she answered. "You ever heard of Cassandra July?"

I shook my head.

"Well, she was this gym teacher who was found stabbed to death in her apartment. Her boyfriend went down for manslaughter but I don't think he did it."

The mental image made me slightly nauseous but I tried to ignore it. "So, you think whoever really killed her killed this Kitty girl too?"

She nodded. "I do."

"How come?"

She shrugged at me. "Both were women. Both died from multiple stab wounds. Both were young, blonde and attractive. Both had traces of chitin on their clothes when they were found. Both had chunks of hair missing-"

My brow furrowed. "Chunks of hair?"

"M-hm," she nodded, "Fucker obviously likes to cut their hair before he kills 'em."

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. "Right… okay… What's _chitin_?"

She sighed before answering, "It's a chemical compound. It's what a lot of insect exoskeletons are made out of. It probably came off like, a moth's wing or something."

I looked back down at the picture in my hands. "If they have all that stuff in common, why don't people believe you?" I asked.

I heard Detective Lopez huff out a breath beside me. "I think it's more a case of them not _wanting _to believe me. Think about it – for the past five years some innocent guy's been rotting in a prison cell for something he didn't do. Meanwhile the real killer gets away scot-free, and now somebody else is dead… all because they fucked up. It doesn't exactly look good."

I nodded. That made sense. "Can't you go above their heads? There must be somebody who'll listen."

She shook her head. "I can't be a pain in the ass - my Captain'll just reassign me."

She looked away from me and we were quiet for a few moments. "What will you do?" I mumbled. I knew the question was vague but I didn't know what else to ask. I was worried for her. I couldn't imagine what it must have been like, being responsible for something so important.

"Prove I'm right," she shrugged, "Make it so they can't deny it." Her face was almost unreadable as she said it. There was something formidable about her that I liked a lot.

After we had gone a few seconds without speaking again, Detective Lopez reached over and tried to take the picture from me, but I held onto it tighter. I didn't want to let it go.

"My sister," I whispered, "She's-" My throat tried to close up around the words and I had to force them out, "She's… the same. The same as those girls."

Detective Lopez shook her head emphatically. "No, she's not-"

"She is…" I cut her off and pulled my cell phone out of my jacket pocket. I found a picture of Jessica and held it up for her to see. "When you described those other women, you could've been describing her too, couldn't you?"

She pursed her lips and shook her head again as I put my phone away. "Kitty and Cassandra were both found dead in their own homes. It's not the same _at all_. If you jump to conclusions like that, you're gonna drive yourself crazy."

I wanted to believe her more than I'd ever wanted anything in my life. I had that on my side - relentless and possibly misguided hope. So I slowly nodded.

"Fuck. I shouldn't have told you all that," she muttered.

I shook my head. "I'm glad you told me," I said quietly, "You need someone to believe you, too." She didn't say anything back right away, just reached over and gently took the picture away from me. I didn't hold onto it this time.

"We're here to talk about you," she murmured, "You said you didn't know where to start, right?"

I looked at her and nodded.

"Okay… well you need to start at the beginning," she told me. Something in my expression must have betrayed what I was thinking – that that was kind of obvious – because Detective Lopez smiled a little. "What was she doing the night she disappeared?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. I was working that night and Sam stayed over at his girlfriend's place. I didn't get home 'til after three so I just assumed she was in bed and then I woke up pretty late the next morning. I figured she'd already gone to class, but then she never came home. I mean, she could've been missing a whole day before I even noticed." I shook my head. It felt really strange, reliving that day. It gave me the same feeling I got every morning, when for the first few seconds after I woke up I would forget that Jessica was missing - only to have it all come crashing down on top of me.

"What time did you realize she was missing?"

"I dunno. Like, seven maybe? I went into her room and all her clothes were gone and I found that note."

Detective Lopez nodded. "Okay… so she was definitely taken from your house because someone had to have let this person in, right?"

"Uh-huh." I guess that made sense. I had been told by the police enough times that there was _no sign of forced entry_.

She was quiet again for a moment, and she bit her lip when she looked at me. "I know it's not a nice thought... but your sister probably knew this person," she told me gently, "Who were her friends?"

I shrugged. "Just people from college."

"And you've talked to them?"

I nodded.

"All right. Talk to them again," she insisted. "And what about this guy she was seeing?"

I shook my head. "He already said he doesn't know anything."

"Same thing," she told me, "Talk to him again. You can always get _something _from talking to people, even if it's tiny. Take a pad and a pen and write down everything he says."

I nodded. I could do that. "Okay," I agreed, "Then what?"

She shrugged. "Then you bring whatever you find to me, and we can go over it together and figure out what to do next, okay?" She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

My throat tightened and I looked down at my lap. "Jeez… You're like a freakin' angel or something," I muttered.

I heard her breathe out a laugh so I looked at her again. I think she was trying to bite back a smile. "I'm just doing my job," she said.

I shook my head. "If you were doing your job you'd be telling me to scram, like Sergeant Schuester."

"_No,_" she drew the word out, "If _he _was doing his job, he'd be listening to you like I am."

A smile tugged at my lips and I slowly nodded, and then we were quiet for a moment. I don't think she knew where to look because her eyes flickered everywhere; sometimes they looked at my face and sometimes they looked somewhere else, but never for more than a split second.

The police badge on her hip caught my attention again, so I jabbed at it with my pointer finger. "That's cool," I mumbled.

She smiled at that and quickly looked down. "Thanks. It's a dupe, actually – the real one's in my wallet."

I nodded even though I wasn't quite sure what she meant, and after a moment, Detective Lopez cleared her throat and shifted in her seat. "Uh, you should probably write down your phone number," she muttered, leaning forwards and tearing a scrap of paper from the pile on the dashboard. "There's a pen in the glove compartment."

I nodded and opened it up and immediately froze. There was a gun in there. I knew I probably shouldn't have been as surprised as I was to see it, it just wasn't what I expected.

"Shit… sorry," she mumbled, leaning over and retrieving the pen from behind the gun herself. She closed the hatch and handed it to me. "Sometimes I forget other people aren't used to seeing guns."

I shook my head. "It's okay," I murmured. I wrote down my phone number and my name on the piece of paper and then handed it back to her. "Have you ever had to, you know… _use _it?"

She pursed her lips for a moment before answering, "No… but I've used this one." She patted her side and I assumed she must have been referring to one that she was wearing underneath her coat. My next question must have been written all over my face because she answered without me having to ask. "I've never killed anybody," she told me.

I'm not sure if it was strange or not, that I was happier for her than I was for whoever she might have shot at in the past.

"What's it… _like_?" I asked.

She rolled her eyes but it was playful. "You've never fired a gun?"

I shook my head and she shrugged.

"It feels… big, I guess," she answered, "Like, you know the first time you ever drive a car? And you just feel completely out of control, because it's so huge and powerful and you don't really know what you're doing… firing a gun feels like that every time. I don't like it."

"You don't like guns?"

She shook her head. "No, I don't." We went quiet, and then her lips twitched up at the corners. "What? Just because I'm a cop I'm supposed to like them?"

I frowned at her. "N-no, I didn't… say that," I stuttered.

"Well, you looked like you wanted to," she muttered, her smile fading a little. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and suddenly I could see her locking up in front of me. I wasn't sure what had triggered it.

"Brittany," she mumbled quietly after a few seconds. She was frowning and I really wanted her to stop. "You know you can't repeat any of this, right?"

"Of course," I agreed, bobbing my head up and down.

After I had said it, she held my eyes for a few moments. "Okay," was all she said back. She looked away from me and her body seemed to deflate. "Were you gonna walk home?"

"Uh-huh." I nodded even though she wasn't looking at me.

"Where's your roommate this time?" she asked.

"I think he said he was going to his girlfriend's place after work," I told her, "He offered to leave the car but I told him not to." I didn't want her to think Sam had left me without a car of his own volition.

"I'll take you home again," she said, "Wouldn't want you to get wet."

"Okay," I mumbled.

"Put your seatbelt on." It was an order and I quickly did what she said.

I watched Detective Lopez turn on the car's engine and put her own seatbelt on too – and then she drove me home without saying another word.

I think I spent the entire journey looking at her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

I wasn't supposed to work the next day but Marley had called in sick, so Mr C asked me if I could cover for her. I did the shift but it meant I wasn't free again until eight o'clock that evening and I was desperate to start putting Detective Lopez's plan into action.

As soon as I got home I went straight upstairs to change out of my uniform without so much as a _hi_to Sam. He knocked on my door a minute or so later and then came in right away before I told him he could.

"Do you understand the concept of knocking?" I asked him as I finished fastening the buttons on my top. I don't think it came out as light-hearted as I'd meant it because Sam's cheeks pinked a little.

"Uh, sorry," he mumbled, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck.

He leaned against the doorjamb and watched me root through my bedroom for a notepad and pen. I found them under my nightstand and then stuffed them into my purse before grabbing my jacket.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked.

I had to stop and answer him because he was blocking the doorway. "The dorms," I told him.

He frowned at me. "Why?"

I huffed out a breath and started bouncing on the balls of my feet. I really wanted him to move. "Remember that cop I told you about? The one who said she was gonna help me? She came to see me at work yesterday."

"She did?"

"Uh-huh," I nodded, "she said I should talk to all the people who knew Jessica again, so I'm gonna go see Brody," I explained.

"_Brody_?" Sam's brow furrowed, "That jerk hasn't called in weeks. You really think he gives a shit about Jess?" He shook his head.

"It doesn't matter if he gives a shit or not," I retorted, "He might know something."

I pushed past him and stepped out into the hall but Sam caught my wrist. He forced me to turn and look at him again. "Britt," he sighed. I tried to wriggle free but his grip tightened. "Look… I'm really glad that you seem to like, have all this energy again - that's great – but maybe you should channel it into something else…"

I frowned at him and stopped struggling. "Like _what_?"

He shrugged. "I dunno… something that's not gonna drive you crazy."

I think my frown turned into more of a scowl. "I really don't understand what's socrazyabout wanting my sister back."

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand and shook his head. "It's not," he huffed, "I want her back just as much as you do, Britt, but I'm worried about you."

"Well, don't be." I shrugged. He looked at me quietly for a moment, his brow creased with concern, but he didn't say anything else. "Please let me go, Sam," I almost whispered.

It took him a moment, but he released my wrist. It stung a little, where his fingers had been digging into my skin, but I ignored it as I walked away from him and headed back downstairs.

/

It was after nine by the time I got to the dorms. As I pulled into the parking lot and got out of my car I just hoped the fact that it was a Wednesday night meant that Brody would be at home studying instead of out.

He lived on the fourth floor and there was no elevator so I had to take the stairs. It didn't take him long to answer his door after I'd knocked - his eyes went wide and he stepped back a little. "B-Brittany," he stuttered, "What're you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you," I told him, and then I pushed past him and into the room without waiting for an invitation. There were clothes strewn everywhere. The place smelled like _Axe _body spray and the rain hammered so loudly against the window that it almost blocked out the rap music coming from the room next door.

"Come on in…" Brody muttered under his breath. He closed the door and then picked up a tee shirt off of the floor and pulled it on. "What's this about?" he asked.

"Jess," I answered.

He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "I already told you, I don't know where she is."

"I know you don't," I huffed, "I just need you to tell me everything you _do_know." I pulled out my pad and pen and sat at his desk. When Brody smiled down at me, I found it more irritating than I thought possible.

"Okay, Nancy Drew," he teased, "Cops got you doing their dirty work for 'em now?"

I shook my head. "_No_. The cops still think she took off by herself," I told him.

"Well," he grunted and dropped down onto his bed, "Maybe they're right." He relaxed back on his pillows, picked up a baseball from his nightstand and started playing _catch_with himself.

"They're not right," I mumbled as calmly as I could, "When was the last time you saw her?"

"A couple days before you called and told me she was missing… didn't I already tell you that the first time you grilled me?"

I nodded as I wrote down his answer. He was right. "What did you guys do?" I asked. He stopped throwing his ball and looked at me with raised eyebrows. I winced. "Ugh," I cleared my throat, "Okay… uh… so, did you notice her acting any differently?"

"_No_," he answered like it was obvious, "Was she acting any different with _you_?"

I paused and then shook my head. "No," I whispered.

"Look, Brittany." He sat up and swung his legs around so that he was perched on the edge of the bed. "I really don't know your sister all that well. We hook up sometimes. That's it."

"Well, you came to her birthday party," I retorted, "So you must like each other a little. She obviously thinks of _you_as a friend."

Brody looked a little sheepish and avoided my eyes.

"Fine," I muttered. I collected up my things and stuffed them back in my purse before standing up. It was obvious he wasn't going to be much help and I had other people I wanted to talk to. I got as far as the door before I felt his hand on my shoulder.

"Wait," he sighed, "There might be… _something_."

I turned on my heels to look at him. "What?"

Brody shook his head and took his hand back. "I dunno if this is… _helpful_ at all, but there was this guy."

"What guy?" I frowned and my heart rate picked up.

"I dunno… just some guy. Me and Jess were in the Union bar one night and he was there. She told me she kept seeing him everywhere and he was starting to give her the creeps, but I didn't really think much of it."

I just looked at him for a moment, my mouth agape. "And you didn't think to tell me this before? That my sister had a _stalker_?"

Brody rolled his eyes at me. "I didn't say anything about a _stalker,_" he argued, "He was just some guy she thought was creepy. _I_know people who I think are creepy. I'm sure you do, too. It doesn't mean anything."

My fists clenched. "Well, who was he?" I demanded.

"I dunno," he shrugged, "It was dark and I didn't really get a good look at him. I don't even know his name. I'm sorry."

I felt my eyes slam shut in frustration. That really wasn't a lot to go on. "It's okay," I mumbled. I knew it wasn't Brody's fault, really. At least he was _trying_to help.

"There is someone who might know more about him than I do," he offered timidly. It made my heart jolt and I opened my eyes again.

"Who?"

"His name's Blaine. We have a couple classes together," he told me. I nodded so that he would keep talking. "Well, he and that guy were sitting at a table together that night. They seemed pretty tight," he explained.

"Okay," I nodded quickly, "So, let's go see Blaine."

Brody hesitated for a moment before his shoulders slumped. "…Fine," he muttered, "Just lemme get my shoes." I watched him walk back over to his bed and pull out a pair of sneakers from underneath it. "D'you have a car?" he asked as he slipped them on, "Blaine lives right on the other side of campus."

"Yeah, I have a car," I told him.

"Okay." He got up and stepped back towards me and then gestured towards the door, "After you."

/

"Which one is it?" I asked. We were stood in a narrow hallway lined with brown doors and it was almost the same as the dorm Brody lived in, just more dingy.

"I think it's two-sixteen," he told me.

We found the room and knocked and we could hear somebody shuffling around inside for a few moments before a guy in a bow-tie and chinos answered. He had slicked-down, black hair and his faced looked a little familiar; I think he had been at Jessica's birthday party, too. He looked somewhat taken aback when he saw us.

"Brody? What's going on?" he asked.

"Um, this is Br-"

"I need to talk to you about Jessica Pierce," I cut Brody off mid-sentence. I wasn't sure why, but I really didn't want this guy to know who I was.

Blaine frowned at me. "_Why_?"

"Dude, can we just come in?" asked Brody.

Blaine looked between us a couple of times before relenting. He stepped aside to let us past and then closed the door once we were inside. "I don't know what you expect me to kn-" He froze when he turned around.

I wasn't even sure when or why I had done it. I'd been carrying a gun around in my purse ever since Jessica disappeared because I just didn't feel safe anymore, and suddenly I was pointing it at Blaine for no good reason. Detective Lopez's admonishments echoed through my mind and I shook my head to make them go away.

"_What the fuck are you doing_?" Brody hissed. He put his hand on my shoulder and tried to turn me around but I shrugged him off. He didn't try it again.

"Where is she?" I demanded. Blaine stepped backwards – wide-eyed and terrified - and stumbled over a pair of brogues that were lying on the floor. He fell down and I lowered the gun with him so that it stayed pointing at the middle of his face. "What did your _sick_friend do with her?"

"W-what are you talking about?" he stammered. His face was starting to sweat as I tried in vain to keep my hands steady. I was trembling from the bottom of my stomach to the tips of my fingers.

I saw Brody step carefully towards Blaine out of the corner of my eye. "Dude, you remember a few months ago, we were in the Union and you were with some guy?" he asked. He was trying too hard to sound calm.

Blaine frantically shook his head. "N-no! I swear, I don't!"

"Sure ya do," Brody insisted, "It was the night they had that pool contest. You were sitting at a table with him for like, three hours."

I watched as realization flickered across Blaine's face. "Who was he?" I asked less forcefully than before.

He shook his head. "I don't know… h-he said his name was _Bug._He just came and over and started talking to me and buying me drinks and stuff. I'd never even seen him before that." He sounded as if he was on the verge of tears and I swallowed down my nausea and guilt.

"What did he want?"

"Uh… he- he asked me if I knew Jess and then when I said I sort of did he mostly just asked me stuff about her," Blaine answered.

I felt my stomach tie itself in knots and I tightened my grip on the gun. "What kind of stuff?"

He shook his head again. "Just… w-what classes she took and what kinda stuff she was into. He seemed sweet – I- I figured he just had a crush on her or something."

I closed my eyes for a moment. "And what did he look like?" I asked.

"I-I'm not sure," he answered, "It was pretty dark and I'd been drinking. I guess he was about my height, k-kinda scrawny."

"What about his hair?" I prompted.

"I don't know. He was wearing a baseball cap."

I huffed out a frustrated breath. "And you didn't get his last name?"

Blaine shook his head emphatically. "No. Just _Bug_."

We were quiet for a moment and then Brody chanced putting his hand on my shoulder again. "I really think we need to leave now," he whispered.

I slowly lowered the gun and Blaine gasped with relief. His chest started heaving as if he'd been holding his breath the whole time we were talking. I didn't say anything and I felt Brody guiding me back towards the door. He opened it but I didn't leave right away.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled to Blaine before Brody forced me from the room.

I shoved the gun back inside my purse as we made our way down the hall and then I felt myself being pushed. My back hit the wall and Brody pinned me there by my shoulders. His face was inches from mine. "What the fuck was that?" he growled, "Are you _insane_?"

I shook my head in response. "It's not loaded," I mumbled.

"_So?_You scared the shit out of him!"

"I had to get him to talk," I argued.

Brody shook his head. "You didn't even give him a chance."

I looked down and didn't say anything else because I knew he was right; there was no excuse for me treating Blaine that way. Maybe I really _was_going crazy, just like Sam said.

Brody huffed out a breath and let me go before continuing down the hall. I followed him until we got back outside. It was still raining and I couldn't help but wonder if he was cold in just a tee shirt.

"Don't you want a ride back?" I asked when he walked right past the entrance to the parking lot.

He stopped and turned to look at me for a second. "I'll walk," he told me, and then he kept on going. I didn't chase after him because he seemed so mad and I didn't want him to yell at me some more.

The five-or-so minutes it took to get back to my car were enough for the rain to soak right through my jacket and jeans. Once I was inside I slumped down in my seat with my head tipped back and closed my eyes for a moment while I tried to regroup. My heart felt like it was trying to burst through my chest.

When I felt capable of normal, human interaction again I slipped my phone out of my jacket pocket and scrolled through my contacts until I found Detective Lopez's number. My thumb hovered over the _call_button for a few seconds before I mustered up the courage to press it. She answered after three rings.

"_Hello?_"

"Hi… Um, it's Brittany Pierce," I told her.

"_Yeah, I know. Is everything okay?_" She sounded a little tired.

"Yeah. Uh, I'm sorry. I know it's kinda late."

"_It's fine_," she was quick to assure me.

"I talked to some people… like you said," I told her.

"_You did?_"

I nodded even though she couldn't see me. "Uh-huh. I was wondering if we could maybe… talk? But if it's too late I unders-"

"_It's not_," she cut me off, "_D'you have your car?"_

"Yeah."

"_D'you wanna come over?_"

I felt my heart start beating quicker again. I wasn't sure why, but I was surprised that she would suggest I come to her home. "Like, t-to your house?" I stuttered.

I heard what sounded like a heavy intake of breath on the other end of the line before she answered. "_My apartment, yeah._"

"Uh… Sure. Where do you live?"

"_I'll text you my address_," she said, and then she hung up abruptly without even saying _goodbye_.

I got the text through a few seconds later.

/

Detective Lopez's building didn't have a parking lot so I had to park on the street. I got out of my car and pulled my hood up and as I approached the door I was surprised to find her waiting outside for me. She wasn't wearing her coat this time - just a blouse and black pants again - and she didn't have her umbrella because there was a ledge above the door that just about sheltered her. I jogged the last few steps just to get out of the rain.

"You didn't have to wait outside for me," I told her.

She smiled a little. "I didn't want you to walk up by yourself." She turned and pushed the door open and let me in in front of her, and then she guided me toward the stairs. "Sorry. Elevator's broken," she mumbled.

At first I thought it might just be the lobby that was dank and gray, but as we made our way upstairs I realized that the entire building was like it. I don't think it had seen a lick of paint in years and I could hear people yelling from inside more than one apartment. There was a small group of young men standing in a circle on the stairwell between the fourth and fifth floors. They all stopped talking and looked at us as we squeezed past and I kept my eyes fixed firmly on my feet.

"Ladies," one of them murmured, but besides that, they didn't say anything.

Detective Lopez finally guided me through a door to my right and into a narrow hallway once we reached the ninth floor. Halfway down she stopped to take a key out of her pocket and let us into one of the apartments.

I was pleased to find it was much nicer inside. The walls were cream and the floor was rosewood and there were two brown, leather couches flanking a pine coffee table. If her car could transform into an apartment it would have looked like that room.

"How long have you lived here?" I asked. I didn't mean to be blunt, I just didn't like the thought of her living somewhere that wasn't totally safe.

"Couple years," she answered and then shrugged, "It's close to work."

I followed her over to the seating area, but she sat down Indian-style on the floor in front of the coffee table. It was littered with papers and files and photographs and there was a corkboard on the far wall in a similar state of disarray. I wondered if she ever took a break.

She clumsily cleared a little space on the table and then gestured for me to sit down opposite her, so I did. "Who'd you talk to?" she asked.

"Uh, Brody - the guy my sister was seeing. And his friend, Blaine."

She nodded. "Did you write everything down?"

I bit my lip. "Not really," I answered, "I didn't get a chance." I really hoped she wouldn't ask me to elaborate.

"Okay," she sighed, "Well, what did you find out?"

"That somebody was following her before she disappeared," I responded.

Detective Lopez had still been sifting through pieces of paper up until that point, but her eyes snapped to mine. "For how long?"

I shook my head. "I'm not sure."

"D'you know who it was?" she asked, even though I'm sure she must have known that I didn't.

"No, but he told Blaine his name was Bug."

She raised her eyebrows. "Just _Bug_?"

"Uh-huh," I nodded.

"Did you get a description?"

"No," I shook my head, "They said it was dark and they didn't really get a good look at him. They were drinking and stuff."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay… did she ever mention this person to you?"

"No." I shook my head again.

"How d'you know he was following her?"

I fidgeted a little. I really should have come more prepared. "She told Brody she'd been seeing him everywhere and she thought he was creepy. And Blaine said he was asking all kinds of questions about her in the Union bar one night."

"So, one of her friends had direct contact with this person?"

I nodded in response.

"What kind of questions was he asking?" She grabbed a pen and turned one of the pieces of paper in front of her over so that she could write on the blank side.

"Just what classes she took and what kinda stuff she was interested in, I think."

She wrote down what I'd said and then looked at me again. "So, this guy possibly knew her class schedule?"

My stomach bottomed out at the thought. "Maybe."

"And if he was in the Union bar, he was probably a student, right?" she asked.

"I guess he could be, but it's not just students that go in there. I've been in there and so's Sam."

She huffed out a breath. "Okay. Your sister's at UC, right?"

I nodded.

"All right," she muttered, "What does she study?"

"Pre-law," I answered.

Detective Lopez raised her eyebrows. "Yeah?"

"M-hm," I nodded, "She'd been studying really hard for her LSAT." I knew that wasn't really relevant to what we were talking about, but it was one of many reasons why I knew Jessica would never just leave. I wanted Detective Lopez to know those reasons too.

"Okay," she muttered, more to herself than to me. "I think it's safe to assume that _Bug_isn't this guy's real name." She picked up her cell phone from in front of her on the table and pressed some buttons before holding it to her ear. It was eerily quiet for a few seconds before she spoke. "Hey. Can you make another list for me?" she asked right away.

I looked down and started tracing patterns over the surface of the coffee table with my pointer finger. It was always strange, only hearing one half of a conversation.

"Okay, I need you to get a hold of the class schedule for a Jessica Pierce at UC. And then I need you to make a list of all the students she shares classes with. Try to find out if any of 'em were late switchers if you can."

She was quiet again for a moment and then she frowned. "It's none of your business, Puckerman. Just make sure nobody finds out what you're doing, okay?" She huffed out a breath and then muttered a, "_Thank you_," before hanging up without saying _goodbye_.

"Officer Puckerman's nice," I murmured. It was the only thing I could think to say.

"He's an idiot," she retorted. I smiled a little because she somehow made _idiot_sound affectionate.

"Are you friends?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I guess." She bit the inside of her cheek and looked at me for a moment, and then she averted her gaze. "We went to high school together," she told me, "We kinda lost touch for a while after we graduated, and then he just showed up on my doorstep a few years ago. Said he was moving to the city and he needed a place to crash. I helped him get in the academy."

A smile tugged at my lips. "That's nice," I almost whispered, "Does he believe you about... stuff?"

Detective Lopez nodded. "Yeah. My Sergeant's been watching me like a hawk so if I need to do anything that's against the rules, I kinda have to do it through Puckerman."

"Like… making lists of people for cases you're not supposed to be working on?"

She smiled at that. "Exactly."

"What was the other list?" I asked her.

Her brow furrowed. "Huh?"

"You asked him if he could make you _another_list. What was the first one?"

"Oh… uh," she shook her head, "Yeah, I asked him to make a list of all the students at Fairview High for the 05-06 academic year."

"Oh," I nodded, "How come?" I knew I probably shouldn't have been asking all those questions but I couldn't help myself. I was fascinated and worried and afraid.

"It's where Cassandra July worked. I went to see Carl Howell today."

I frowned. "Who's Carl Howell?"

"The boyfriend," she answered.

"The one who's in jail?"

"Uh-huh," she nodded, "He taught at Fairview, too. He thinks one of her students might've done it."

I felt my eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. "H-he does?"

"M-hm. He said a few months before she died, she started getting these letters and cards and stuff from some anonymous student who had a crush on her. They started off pretty innocuous but apparently the last few got really graphic. They scared her."

I liked the way her eyes came to life as she spoke; she was so completely sure that she was onto something. It was impossible not to be pulled in.

"You believe him?"

Detective Lopez slowly nodded. "Yeah, I do." She looked away from me and then huffed out a breath. "Whoever this guy is, he's really fucking smart," she whispered and then shook her head. She didn't elaborate and I didn't ask her to, even though I wasn't quite sure what had made her say it.

We went quiet and I started to feel uncomfortable looking at her, so I let my eyes wander a little. And I didn't get far before the gun holster on the couch behind Detective Lopez caught my attention. I wasn't sure how I hadn't noticed it before, but it made me think of what I'd done to Blaine earlier and without warning I felt incredibly nauseous. My head started pounding and I began massaging my temple with my fingers. It didn't really help, but it had become a habit.

"You okay?" Detective Lopez asked me.

I nodded and took my hand away from my head. "Yeah, sorry, I get migraines sometimes," I told her.

"That a recent thing?"

I could see why she would think that but I shook my head. "No. Uh… I was in a car accident when I was little. I hurt my head pretty bad and ever since then I just get these headaches sometimes," I explained.

"Shit," she muttered, "Was everybody okay?"

If she had asked me that on any other day, I wouldn't have told her the truth for fear of making her uncomfortable. I knew that. But in that moment I was having trouble focusing on anything past my headache. "My parents were killed," I mumbled, "Me and my sister were both in the back seat. She was the only one who got away without getting hurt at all."

I think it was the last thing Detective Lopez had expected me to say because her eyes went momentarily wide. Her mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish before she said anything. "I – I'm so sorry, Brittany," she stammered, "I had no idea…"

"It's okay," I said, and tried to smile at her so that she would know I wasn't just saying it.

"How old were you?" she asked.

"Eleven," I answered, "Jess was eight."

"Jesus," she whispered.

"It's okay." I shrugged, "I really miss them a lot, but thinking about 'em doesn't make me sad anymore. It makes me really happy, actually."

Her lips pinched together for a second. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," I nodded, "Sometimes I think my brain is so full of good memories of them that there's no room left for anything else. Maybe that's why I'm not that smart." I smiled at her but she didn't really smile back.

"You seem pretty smart to me," she argued.

I shrugged at her again. "I dunno. I remember when I was little, my Dad used to tell me that being smart the way my sister was, was just having a good memory. I was never really good in school like she was, but… the way I remember my Mom and Dad, all those little details… that kinda makes me feel smart, I guess."

Detective Lopez had been looking at my lips while I spoke. It made me want to look at hers too because they were kind of beautiful. _She_was beautiful. I wasn't sure if I'd not noticed it before or if I'd just glossed over it the same way I'd been glossing over most things that weren't about Jessica lately, but she really was. "What about you?" I whispered.

She looked from my lips to my eyes and then down at the table. "What _about_ me?"

"What are your Mom and Dad like?"

She looked surprised that I had asked, but I guess I would have been too. She shook her head and then shrugged. "I dunno. I think I've seen my Dad like, twice in the last ten years. And my Mom still lives back in Lima."

I bobbed my head up and down. "D'you miss them?"

"I guess." She shifted a little where she was sitting and then she huffed out a breath. "Yeah… I do," she admitted.

She didn't seem completely comfortable with our conversation and I spotted her wallet sitting between us on the coffee table, so I picked it up. "Is this your other badge?" I asked.

"M-hm," she nodded.

"Can I look at it?"

Her lips pulled up a little at the corners. "You wanna make sure I'm legit?"

I smiled at that, even as the tips of my ears burned. "I don't think I'd even mind if you weren't," I mumbled – and it was true for many reasons.

Detective Lopez held my eyes for a moment. I watched her throat move as she gulped and then spoke again. "You can look at it," she told me quietly.

I opened up the wallet and let my eyes roam over the badge first – it really was kind of neat – and then the ID card behind the clear, plastic panel on the other side. As I ran my thumb over it I couldn't help but notice the date of birth.

"It's your birthday on Sunday," I stated, "You're gonna be thirty?" I squinted at the date again for a second to make sure I had done the math right.

"Yeah." She reached over and gently took the wallet back, flipping it shut and setting it down on the table.

I looked at her. "What're you doing for it?"

She shrugged. "I have work."

"Then what?"

She breathed a laugh and shook her head. "Then… I'll probably come home and work some more and then go to bed."

I frowned at her. "You're spending your birthday alone?" My head throbbed again. I really didn't want the answer to be _yes_.

"It's not a big deal." She shrugged. "I'd really like to forget it's happening, to be honest."

I looked down at the table and started running my pointer finger over the wood again. "Okay," I mumbled.

We were quiet for a few moments and then I saw Detective Lopez shift again out of the corner of my eye. "I uh… I don't think there's really anything more we can do tonight," she told me, "I can call you tomorrow and let you know if Puckerman managed to dig anything up."

I nodded, and figured that was my cue to leave. "Sure," I agreed. I picked up my purse and stood and Detective Lopez got up too. "We probably could've done this over the phone," I joked.

She smirked and raised her eyebrows at me. "Well, I was hoping I'd get to look over your notes, but you didn't write anything down."

I felt my cheeks burn red and I started fiddling with the bottom of my jacket. "Yeah… sorry," I mumbled.

Detective Lopez shrugged in response, and then she walked me over to the front door and opened it for me. "D'you want me to walk you back downstairs?" she asked.

I _did_want her to, but I turned to face her and shook my head. "It's okay," I whispered, and then neither of us said anything for a few seconds. I knew I should leave, but a part of me really didn't want to. "Detective Lopez?" I mumbled.

"_Santana_," she corrected.

"Right… Santana," I nodded," I just... hope you know how much I appreciate all this." It wasn't anything like what I wanted to tell her. I don't think anything would have been enough.

"It's no problem," she told me. The look she was giving me was unsettling. It was like a worried frown and that specific moment I didn't understand it.

"You look…" I started to say, but I didn't finish because I didn't _know_how she looked.

"What?" She licked her lips and the lines in her forehead sunk even deeper into her skin.

"I don't know," I shook my head, "Sorry… I'll go now." My face burned again and then I turned on my heels and left. I walked quickly, and I didn't hear her close the door after me until I was almost at the stairwell. Suddenly my chest felt tight like animal skin stretched over a drum. I was panicking about something but I didn't know what. Or maybe I was just embarrassed.

The feeling lasted until I reached my car. I got behind the wheel and opened up the window even though it was still raining because it was the only way I felt like I could breathe.

Once I'd calmed down enough, I drove myself home.

I think Sam was in bed when I got back because the house was dark and quiet. Either that or he'd decided to stay over at his girlfriend's place. I felt bad about the way I'd left him earlier.

By the time I'd brushed my teeth and changed into my pajamas I felt heavy with exhaustion. I collapsed into bed and pulled the comforter right up over my head before falling so deeply asleep it was as if I'd fallen off the face of the Earth.

I was woken up the next morning by somebody pounding on my front door.


	4. Chapter 4

**a/n: Somebody asked how old Brittany is - she told Schue in chapter 1 that she's 25 :)**

* * *

**Chapter Four**

_Gentle fingers running through my hair made me open my eyes. It wasn't a strain, the way it usually was, even though everything was so bright. I was too content to question it. My head was in somebody's lap and she was looking down at me. I recognized her curly, gray head and pale eyes that crinkled at the corners._

"_Grandma?"_

_She smiled wider, completely serene, but she didn't say anything – she just kept stroking my hair. It was so soothing that I wanted to close my eyes again, but I also didn't want to stop looking at her._

"_Where've you been?" I murmured._

"_Right here, Honey," she told me. Her voice was stronger than the last time I had heard it. She'd been so frail, then._

"_Where are we?" I tried to sit up but I couldn't move anything below my neck, so I settled for turning my head as much as I could. All I could see was grass and an off-white sky. I knew we weren't sitting directly on the ground but I wasn't sure how that was possible. Whatever was underneath us was soft and moldable._

_Grandma hadn't answered my question, so I asked another one. "Are Mom and Dad here, too?"_

_She gave me a slow, gentle nod. "Yeah. They're here."_

"_What about Grandpa?"_

_She nodded again and I swallowed thickly._

"_Jess isn't here, is she?" I asked her._

_Grandma moved her hand from my hair to my cheek and ran the backs of her fingers softly over my skin. I leaned into the contact. "We haven't seen her," she told me._

"_I've lost her, Grandma," I admitted, "I don't know where she is."_

_For the first time, her smile faded. "I know."_

_Something cold and wet hit me on the forehead and it made me look away from her face. The sky had opened up and drops of water were now falling around us with increasing regularity. There was a continuous thumping sound that echoed in the distance and I wasn't sure if it had been there the whole time or not._

"_I wanna stay with you, Grandma," I told her._

_She didn't say anything back to me, but she did lean down and place a lingering kiss on my forehead. I closed my eyes and then my ears were filled with a static ringing._

I was startled awake but it took me a few seconds to realize why. Whoever was pounding at my front door was relentless and I was kind of angry at first about having the only good night's sleep I'd had in weeks cut short.

The feeling quickly dissipated when I looked at my phone and realized it was already after eleven. "Crap," I mumbled. I tried to ignore the way the rain hammered at the window; it always made me feel cold. I rubbed at my eyes with my fists and then trudged out of my bedroom.

The house was empty and I figured Sam must have already been at work, but whether he had gone from our house or his girlfriend's place, I still wasn't sure. As I made my way downstairs the pounding got louder and I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and pointer finger to try to stave off the inevitable headache. I unlocked the front door and opened it to find Detective Lopez – _Santana – _staring back at me. She was sopping wet and scowling.

"What the fuck, Brittany?" she yelled, and then she pushed past me into the house.

I stared, dumbstruck, out at my slightly overgrown front lawn for a few seconds before I closed the door again, and then I followed Santana into the kitchen. I wasn't sure why she was out there and I don't think she was either; she was just pacing aimlessly.

She dumped her purse on top of the dinner table and then put her hands on her hips. If I had have known her better, her anger might have been comical.

"So, this guy named Blaine Anderson came down to the station this morning. Said you held him up at gun point last night?"

My heart skipped a beat and I looked down at my bare feet. "Shit," I whispered.

"_Shit _in-fucking-deed," Santana retorted, "What the hell were you _thinking_?"

I shook my head. "I- I don't know," I stammered.

She huffed out a frustrated breath and I saw her cross her arms over her chest out of the corner of my eye. "You are _really _fucking lucky I happened to be behind the front desk when he came in, you know that? Jesus Christ."

My cheeks burned and I couldn't bring myself to look at her. I hadn't been made to feel so ashamed of doing something wrong in a long time.

"Am I… in trouble?" I mumbled.

Her voice a lost a tiny little bit of its edge when she answered. "No," she sighed, "I don't think so... I took him into one of the interview rooms as soon as I realized he was talking about you. I think Karofsky's the only other person who heard and I told him I'd take care of it."

The pressure around my chest eased off a little. I wasn't sure who Karofsky was but I assumed he was just another cop. "How'd you know he was talking about me?" I almost whispered. The night before felt like kind of a blur, but I was sure I hadn't told Blaine who I was.

"Tall, blonde girl demanding information about a Jessica Pierce… I kinda put two and two together," she replied.

I nodded and looked up at her, but she was still scowling so I didn't say anything. After a few seconds her shoulders drooped and she reached for her purse. She pulled out a thin, brown file folder and looked down at it for a moment before speaking. "I had to take a statement from him," she informed me, "Do whatever you want with it." She handed it to me and I felt my eyes go wide for a second.

"Uh… thanks," I stammered. I opened it up because I was nervous and I wanted to be doing something with my hands, but all I found inside was a blank piece of paper with a really bad drawing of a cat on it. It took a few seconds for my brain to catch up to my eyes but when it did I felt my lips pull upward at the corners.

"Don't you dare fucking smile," Santana warned me. I sucked my lips into my mouth and nodded. "Where is it?" she asked.

"Where's what?"

She rolled her eyes at me. "The gun."

"Oh… uh, it's in my purse."

"Go get it," she ordered.

"Yeah… okay… sure." I nodded quickly and closed the file folder before setting it down on the table. I found my purse on the couch in the living room and retrieved the gun before returning to the kitchen, holding it away from my body like it was about to explode.

"Jesus, Brittany. A _Glock_?" Santana looked exasperated with me and my cheeks burned again.

I shrugged and handed the gun over to her. I didn't even know that was what it was called until she said it. "There's no bullets in it," I assured her as she pressed a button on the side that made the magazine pop out. She caught it halfway and peered inside for a second, I guess to make sure it really wasn't loaded, before pushing it back in.

"You lied to me," she muttered.

"Huh?" My brow furrowed. I was completely positive it wasn't loaded.

"You told me you didn't have a gun," she clarified.

"Oh," I shook my head as I remembered our conversation in her car, "No… I told you I'd never _fired _a gun. That's the truth." I tentatively went and stood nearer to her and leaned my butt against the table so that we were almost facing each other.

"Do you know how it feels to have a gun pointed at you?" she asked quietly. She held my eyes as she spoke and it made me gulp.

"No," I whispered and shook my head. She didn't say anything back and I didn't like the silence, so I spoke again, "Has anyone ever pointed one at you?" I asked.

She paused for a moment and then sighed. "Yeah," she admitted.

"So, what does it feel like?" I knew it was a stupid question as soon as the words had left my lips.

Santana shrugged and then glanced down at the gun in her hand. She ran her pointer finger gently around the tip for a second and then bit her bottom lip before looking at me again. "Well… we wear bullet-proof vests and stuff, so it really depends," she said quietly. "Like, if somebody pointed it here…" She lifted the gun and pointed it at me, pushing the end of it against the center of my chest. I could feel the temperature of the plastic through my tank top and suddenly I was very conscious of the fact that I was only wearing my pajamas, "It's not so bad," she finished.

I swallowed thickly and nodded, but she wasn't done. She dragged the tip of the gun in a delicate, downward motion from my chest to my bellybutton. The muscles in my stomach tightened and I found myself having to take deeper breaths just to get the same amount of oxygen into my lungs. "Here's okay too," she murmured as she pressed the end of the gun firmly between my hips.

"M… 'k-kay," was all I managed to stammer back. _What was she doing?_

Santana leaned closer, using her free hand to support her weight on the table behind me. Her knees and her thighs pressed into mine and my skin lit and burned like a wick as she raised the gun again. This time she pointed it at my temple and it felt especially cold against my skin. "Here's not so good, though," she whispered before sliding the barrel down my cheek towards my mouth. She pushed it between my lips, but not fully inside, and just let it rest there for a second without saying anything. My eyes were wide but she was completely placid.

When she finally took the gun away she was slow and gentle. She made the tip of it graze over my bottom lip and my eyes drifted closed for a moment of their own accord. It made my breath shake.

"But that's all bullshit, really," Santana said flatly. She set the gun down on the table and then she was leaning with her hands on either side of me. Her face was so very close to mine. "It's always terrifying… _guns _are terrifying… and you're not stupid, Brittany, so what the fuck are you doing with one?"

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. My heart was still jackhammering inside my chest and I was positive she couldn't be that close to me without being able to hear it. "I-It's not mine," I stuttered, "It's my ex's. He left it here and just never came back for it after we broke up. I swear, I don't even know how to use it."

Santana closed her eyes for a second. "So, you don't have a permit for it?"

I slowly shook my head. "I guess not."

"All right," she huffed and then she finally pushed away from me. All the heat in the room seemed to leave with her and my lungs filled with air. "I'm gonna take it, okay?" She waved the gun at me for a second before dumping it in her purse.

"Okay," I nodded. I was happy for her to take it if it meant she was going to stop being mad.

She turned back to me and ran her hand through her wet hair. Her cheeks were pinker than usual and she looked a little frazzled. "Promise me you won't do anything like that again, okay?" she pleaded. Her expression softened and I nodded.

"I promise," I told her - and I meant it.

We were quiet for a moment after that. Santana seemed to be taking in her surroundings for the first time since she came in and it suddenly occurred to me that she hadn't been inside my house before.

"This looks like my Abuela's kitchen," she mumbled, mostly to herself.

"I told you it was my Grandma's place," I replied. She looked at me and I tried to smile.

"You've kept it the same?" she asked.

"We have our own stuff in the bedrooms, but I didn't wanna change too much." I shrugged. "It's still her house."

Santana swallowed and nodded, and then something behind me seemed to catch her attention. "Is that Jessica?"

I turned around and saw the picture on the refrigerator door that she must have been referring to. It was one of me and Jess and Sam at Cedar Point last year. "Yeah," I answered.

She stepped past me and untrapped it from behind a fridge magnet. "Can I hold onto this?" she asked as she turned to face me again.

"Sure," I nodded.

She looked at me for a second. Her forehead was creased and I knew she wanted to say something else so I waited. "D'you think I could take a look in your sister's room while I'm here?" she asked me.

"Yeah… do whatever you need to," I agreed.

"Thanks," she mumbled. I watched her as she put the photograph in her purse and then took off her coat and draped it over the back of one of the chairs. She was wearing a gray waistcoat over the top of her blouse and her gun holster on top of that. I gulped and had to look down at my feet.

I wasn't sure I'd ever look at a gun the same way again.

I turned and walked out of the kitchen and glanced quickly over my shoulder to make sure she was following. We went upstairs and into Jessica's room and it was cold from not being lived in - much colder than I expected it to be. There was a thin layer of dust on everything and I shivered.

"Do you not come in here?" Santana asked me and I shook my head in response.

"Not really."

She made a beeline for the empty closet first. The door creaked as she opened it and when she saw there was nothing inside she pushed it shut again. "Was it just her clothes that were gone?" she asked me as she turned around. Her eyes roamed over the walls and I knew it was because there was hardly any wallpaper showing. It was covered in post-its and study aids that I had never been able to make any sense out of.

"Uh-huh," I replied, "And her purse."

I started playing with the hem of my tank top as Santana made her way over to my sister's brown dresser. She ran her finger delicately over the surface, scooping up some of the dust, before opening the top drawer. I knew that it was empty too and she quickly pushed it back in.

It startled me a little when she suddenly dropped down onto the floor like she was going to do press-ups. She laid flat on her stomach and pressed her cheek to the floorboards so that she could look under the bed. "Your sister has a lot of books," she mumbled.

"I think they're her notebooks from school. I found her diary under there, too," I told her.

She got to her knees and then stood up again. "Did you read it?" she asked as she brushed some dust off of her pants.

"Of course not," I replied.

"D'you think I could take a look at it?"

I nodded. "Sure. I'll go get it."

I left her where she was while I went to find it. I had left it on the dresser in my bedroom and as soon as I'd retrieved it I opened it up to make sure the note was still inside.

Santana was perched on the edge of the bed when I went back into Jessica's room. "Is that your room across the hall?" she asked.

"Uh-huh," I nodded, "It used to be my Grandma's."

"And where does your roommate sleep?"

"His room's downstairs," I answered and then I dropped down next to her on the bed and handed her the diary. "I have the note, too," I told her. She opened it up and I laid the note out flat over the page for her. "See, the handwriting's different, right?"

She bit her lip as she looked down at it but it took her a moment to say anything. "I can't really tell just by looking at it. I'm sorry."

My heart sank a little and I swallowed thickly. "Okay," I whispered.

She glanced at me and her forehead creased. "But, uh… I know some people who know more about this kinda stuff than I do. I could have them take a look at it?"

My lips quirked up a little at the corners. "Really?"

"Yeah." She nodded and gave me a sympathetic smile before looking back down at the book. "Can I read this?" she asked. She must have sensed my trepidation because she was quick to continue. "Just the last few pages," she assured me, "I wanna see if she mentions that guy from the bar."

I paused for a moment, but then nodded. "Whatever you need," I echoed my earlier sentiment.

She flipped to the last few pages as soon as I had given her permission and I watched the side of her face as she read. After a minute or so of silence, I leaned into her and rested my head on her shoulder. She stiffened a little but she didn't say anything and even though I knew it was inappropriate, it had taken every ounce of restraint I had not to do it sooner. She smelled like rain and apple blossom and it made me want to close my eyes.

It took a little while, but after she had finished reading she closed the book and huffed out a breath. "Anything helpful?" I asked, hopeful.

I felt her gently shake her head. "Not really. But I can still take it and get it looked at for you," she told me. I knew she was trying to make me focus only on positive things and it made me like her even more.

"You're so nice," I whispered. I had been thinking it but I hadn't meant to say it out loud. I wasn't sure if I should be embarrassed or not.

Santana didn't say anything back but she shifted and forced me to lift my head off of her shoulder. She turned a little so that her knees brushed against mine and then she hugged the diary against her chest like a shield.

"Brittany… don't take this the wrong way, okay?" she said to me. I nodded, even though the way she spoke made me nervous. "I'm still gonna help you if that's what you want, but I just wanna know that you're _sure_."

My brow furrowed. "Sure about what?"

She bit her lip and hesitated for a second before answering. "That your sister really didn't just decide to leave."

My stomach flipped, and not in a good way. "She didn't," I told her.

"You can't know that," she responded. The look she gave me was sympathetic but it didn't make me feel any better.

"But, you've seen her room now. You know how hard she worked," I said, "Why would she just leave all this behind?"

Santana raised her eyebrows a little. "I think you just answered your own question," she told me.

I frowned at her. "What're you talking about?"

"Maybe school and all that hard work was too much for her," she explained.

"No," I shook my head, "she would've told me if she was struggling."

"Not if she didn't wanna disappoint you," she argued.

My fists clenched and my heart started thumping erratically inside my chest. "She knows she could never disappoint me," I assured her, "And where would she even go, anyway? We don't _have_ anybody else. It's just me and her. We would never leave each other - not ever." I pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head. "Please don't do this," I whispered. The thought of Santana giving up on me was not one I wanted to entertain.

"Brittany," she sighed. I felt her fingers wrap around my wrist before she pulled my hand away from my face and made me look at her. "Look, I know you _think _your sister would never just leave-"

"She wouldn't," I cut in.

"Okay…" she nodded, "But you only think that because we hold other people to our own standards. That's why it hurts so much when they do shitty things – and believe me, people do some _really _shitty things to each other. I see it every, single day. Whatever you tell me, I'll believe you, Brittany. I promise. I just want to know that you're sure… that you're not just clutching at straws because you don't wanna believe your sister could do something like this."

She held my eyes for a moment and then I had to look down at the floor. "Don't you think if I had a choice, I would rather she left because she wanted to?"

I looked back at her and she frowned at me for a second before slowly nodding. "Okay," she whispered.

"I know you're not supposed to be helping me," I mumbled, "If you're having second thoughts-"

"I'm not," she cut me off. "Look, just… forget I said anything, okay?" She stood up swiftly and started brushing invisible dirt from her clothes with the hand that wasn't still cradling Jessica's diary.

"If the wrong person found out about this… how much trouble would you be in?" I asked her.

I don't think she had been expecting the question because she paused for a second before answering. "I dunno… if somebody found out about me falsifying that report this morning, I'd be fired and probably prosecuted."

I gulped and looked down at my feet. "I don't want you getting in trouble because of me," I mumbled.

"Well," she huffed, and then to my surprise she crouched down in front of me. Her lips twitched up a little at the corners before she continued, "If my superiors got wind of me visiting Carl Howell yesterday after my sergeant told me explicitly not to, I'd have my ass handed to me. I break plenty of rules without your help so I wouldn't worry about it, okay?"

I couldn't bring myself to disagree with her, even though I wanted to. It was selfish, but getting Jessica back trumped everything else. I was willing to let Santana risk her career.

I was sure then, that I had changed a little bit, and I wondered briefly if I would ever be able to change back.

When I didn't say anything back to her, Santana stood upright again and exhaled heavily. "I need to get back to work," she told me, "But… can I please get your permission to read this cover to cover?" She waved the diary in front of me and I had to look down at my feet.

"If that's what you need to do," I mumbled. It didn't feel right, giving her permission to invade my sister's privacy like that, but I knew it would have been stupid to refuse.

"I need to know her better if we're gonna get anywhere," she explained.

"Okay," I nodded. I looked back up and we quietly kept eye contact for a moment before she averted her gaze and started walking out of the room. I had to force myself to get up and follow her.

When we got downstairs she went into the kitchen and slipped Jessica's diary into her purse before picking up her coat. She gave me a long, hard stare while she put it back on, and then she pinched her bottom lip between her thumb and pointer finger. Her expression was unreadable and I had no idea what I was supposed to say.

After a few long, uncomfortable seconds she seemed to deflate and her hand flopped back down to her side. "What happened this morning…" she said, "…I can't cover for you like that again."

"I know," I almost whispered. I looked down at my feet and we were quiet again until she seemed to decide that we'd said enough to one another.

When she brushed past me, my heart sank a little.

I opened the front door for her when we got there and my heart jolted when I found Sam hunched over and fumbling with his keys on the other side. He froze and squinted up at me past the droplets of water that were falling from his hair and into his eyes. "Britt? …I thought you were at work?"

I shook my head. "I covered for Marley yesterday so I got today off instead, remember?"

His cheeks pinked a little. "Right," he mumbled.

"How come _you're _not at work?" I asked him.

"Uh… they sent me home," he told me, "I'm sick."

I reached out and wrapped my fingers around his wrist so I could pull him inside. "Then get out of the rain, silly."

Santana stepped back to let him past and I automatically closed the door behind him before remembering that she was just about to leave. I think she had temporarily forgotten, too, because her eyes were fixed on Sam. He gazed back at her as he combed his fingers through his hair and the way it stood on end made him look like a wet, fluffy cat.

"Um… This is Detective Lopez," I told him

"Oh," he replied. His face fell ever-so-slightly as he glanced between us. "So, she's making house-calls, now?" he muttered before his eyes finally settled on me.

"_Sam_…" I frowned at him but I didn't know what else to say.

Santana paled a little and then shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Is there a problem?" she asked. I really wouldn't have enjoyed being on the receiving end of the look she was giving him.

I was quick to shake my head in response but Sam answered before I could. "Nope. No problem." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked down at his feet.

"Santana's helping us find Jess. Like I told you, remember?"

"Yeah," he huffed without looking up, "I remember."

We lapsed into silence for a few moments after that before Santana sighed a heavy breath and stepped towards the door again. "I really need to get back to work," she mumbled.

She jerked the door open and stepped outside and I followed her out onto the front porch. I think she would have kept walking if I hadn't have put my hand on her shoulder and turned her around. She hitched her purse back up where the strap was slipping off of her shoulder and looked down at the ground instead of at me.

Not for the first time, I wasn't sure what I wanted to say to her. I just didn't want her to leave like that. I was afraid she might not come back.

Before giving myself a chance to realize it probably wasn't such a good idea, I stepped forwards and wrapped my arms around Santana's shoulders. She stayed stock still and she didn't hug me back, but she didn't push me away either.

I couldn't bring myself to look at her when I drew back, so I just turned around and went back inside the house. I shivered a little as I closed the door behind me. The front porch was somewhat sheltered but there were still a few drops of rain on the front of my pajamas and it was enough to make my skin prickle with goose bumps.

I found Sam in the kitchen. He was perched on the edge of the dining table and he deliberately avoided eye contact with me as I entered the room. "What was that?" I asked him.

"What?" He rubbed at the back of his neck with his hand and still didn't look at me. I could see his cheeks turning pink and I knew he was only pretending not to know what I was talking about.

"She's helping us and you were really rude to her."

Sam huffed out a breath and shook his head. "I really don't see how feeding your paranoia is _helping us_."

I bristled at that and my bottom lip quivered before I spoke. "You… think I'm paranoid?" I stammered.

Sam let himself look up at me. His expression softened. "No… I didn't mean it like that. I just… don't think it's right, what she's doing – stuff like ambushing you at work and telling you to go talk to Brody. It's not fair. She's giving you false hope," he explained.

"False hope?" I echoed. "You were the one who promised me we'd find her."

"And I meant that," he retorted. He got off of the table and stepped towards me, "I really do believe she'll come back to us, Britt… when she's ready." My chest tightened and I had to look away from him. It was the closest he had come to outright admitting that he didn't believe me. "Look," he mumbled, "I'm really tired. Maybe we shouldn't talk about this right now?"

I slowly nodded in agreement, but I didn't say anything back. And he _did_ look tired. His eyes were pink and sunken and his skin was paler than usual. Things were taking their toll on him, too, and I think deep down if I could have convinced myself, the way he had, that Jessica was safe somewhere I would have done it whether it was true or not. I couldn't blame him for wanting to believe something that wasn't so bad over something that was awful.

He closed the space between us and kissed my forehead before brushing past me and out of the room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

It seemed like it had been forever since I'd done this. Lazing around on Saturday afternoons with Sam, watching TV and shirking off our chores, had almost become ritual before everything changed. Jessica rarely joined us - she was always so busy studying - so I was pleased to find it to be one of the only _before_things that I could still do without feeling her absence too badly. It was there, it would _always_be there until I got her back, but it wasn't unbearable.

"Do I even live on this planet?" Sam mumbled as he reached blindly for the bag of chips that sat between us on the couch, "I don't know any of this."

I wasn't really paying much attention to the TV – some cheesy game show that I'd never seen before. I was too busy watching the side of his face. His lips stood in such stark contrast to his complexion that it was hard for me to tear my eyes away from them. I noticed every twitch and every curve. When he smiled, I smiled.

I drew my knees up to my chest and hugged them. "D'you ever wonder if you're albino?" I asked him quietly.

Sam looked over at me and frowned. "Huh?"

"You just look like you could be." I shrugged.

He breathed out a laugh and shook his head. "I'm not_albino_," he mumbled, "I'm just… blonde."

"Nuh-uh," I argued, "_I'm_blonde. You're… something else."

"Britt!" He giggled and it made me smile bigger, "I'm _not_albino."

I raised my eyebrows at him for a second. "Whatever you say," I teased.

He reached over and poked me on the shoulder and I squirmed away from him. "Dork," he muttered before turning his attention back to the TV.

I was about to call him one back when my cell phone started vibrating inside my pocket. I wiggled it out and my heart skipped a beat when I saw Detective Lopez's name lighting up the screen. I briefly wondered if I should change it now that I had permission to call her _Santana_.

For some reason I stood up to answer but I didn't leave the room. "Hello?"

"_Hey_." The sound of her voice made me close my eyes for a second. It was like coming up for air. In the two days it had been since we last had contact I had managed to thoroughly convince myself that I was never going to hear from her again.

I had never been happier to be wrong.

"I thought you were mad at me," I mumbled without really meaning to.

"_Why_-" she cut herself off and then paused for a second, "_Of course I'm not mad at you. Look, I need to be quick, okay? Are you free right now_?"

I scrunched my face up. "Like, right now this second?"

"_Yeah_," she huffed impatiently.

"Sure. I guess," I answered.

"_Okay, I'm gonna swing by your place and pick you up. Be ready to leave in ten minutes_," she told me, and then she hung up without saying goodbye like she had done the last time we talked on the phone.

I took it away from my ear and gazed down at the screen in a trance for a moment before Sam brought the room back into focus.

"Who was that?" he mumbled through a mouthful of chips. He was looking up at me, doe eyed and with crumbs stuck to his lips. He looked like a little boy.

"Santana," I told him reluctantly. We hadn't spoken about her since our conversation in the kitchen right after she left. A part of me was glad for that and a part of me was exhausted from trying to act like everything was okay in front of him. I didn't want him to think I was crazy anymore.

"Oh." He bobbed his head up and down and I dropped back down next to him. After a few seconds of almost silence, but for the TV, he spoke again, "I'm sorry about the other day," he rushed out.

I was _nearly_not surprised by his apology. "It's okay," I told him.

"It's not." He shook his head, "She's doing a good thing for us and I was a jerk."

I shrugged at him. _Good thing_was kind of an understatement. "At least she called," I responded, "I was afraid she wouldn't."

"What'd she say?" he asked.

"Just that she's picking me up in ten minutes."

Sam frowned at me. "What for?"

I smiled mirthlessly. "I have no idea."

"Fair enough," he mumbled. He went back to watching TV for a few moments and I was about to get up and go find my shoes when he started talking again, "D'you think I should apologize to her when she gets here?" he asked me.

I felt my lips pull upwards at the corners. "I dunno, it seemed like she was in a hurry," I told him with regret.

He seemed to deflate a little. "Okay," he murmured, slumping back, "Hey… maybe that's for the best, huh? She kinda looked like she wanted to kill me the other day."

I smiled at that. "Yeah… she's sort of intense."

Sam nodded. "Maybe it's a law enforcement thing. Remember that girl, Erica, I dated?"

"Uh-huh." I tipped my head back against the couch and gazed up at the ceiling. My recollection of Erica was fairly hazy, but I know I had done everything in my power to stay out of her way during their brief relationship.

"And she was just a meter maid," he muttered.

I opened my mouth to say something back, but before I could a car horn sounded loudly outside. "That's probably her," I said to myself.

I leaped up off of the couch and scampered towards the rain-spattered window so that I could peek through the blind. Sure enough, Santana's car was parked on the street at the bottom of our driveway. I gazed out there, unblinking, for probably longer than I should have – until everything was starting to blur around the edges.

"That didn't seem like ten minutes," Sam stated.

I blinked my vision back into focus and turned to him. "The nerve, huh?"

Sam rolled his eyes at me. "Are you sure you don't want me to come out and say something?"

"It's okay." I shook my head. "I'll tell her you said sorry." I just happened to glance down at the floor as I spoke and spotted my shoes under the coffee table. I grabbed them and sat back down next to Sam to slip them on. I could feel his eyes on me, but he didn't say anything until I had gotten back up and was almost at the front door.

I felt his hand on my arm as I grabbed my jacket off the hook so I turned to look at him. His expression made me pause. "Please be careful, Britt," he said timidly.

I quickly nodded. "I will," I promised.

He gave me a strained smile and then huffed out a breath. "D'you want me to leave the car?" he asked me. In a sweet gesture, he helped me into my jacket before I answered.

"You staying with Mercedes tonight?"

"Uh-huh," he nodded.

I considered for a moment just telling him to take it. Maybe Santana could drop me off at work when we were finished doing… whatever it was we were doing. But it only took me a second to decide against that idea because I was sure I was maxed out on favors from her. "D'you _mind_leaving it?"

He shook his head. "Of course not." I was about to thank him but I was cut off when Santana honked impatiently again from outside. Sam breathed a laugh, "You should go. I'd really rather not incur her wrath," he joked.

"Okay," I said. I quickly brushed some crumbs away from the corner of his mouth with my thumb, and then I opened the door and slipped outside.

It was only drizzling but I still jogged from the front porch to the car so that I didn't keep Santana waiting any longer. It wasn't until I had slid into the passenger seat and pulled the door closed behind me that I realized how anxious I had been about seeing her. It hit me like a freight train.

Apart from the rumbling of the engine it was silent. She wasn't even listening to the radio. "You in a hurry?" I mumbled in my haste just to say _something_. I looked over at her for the first time and noticed that her hair wasn't loose, the way it had been all the other times I had seen her. She had it scraped back in a tight ponytail. Her profile was striking.

"_No_. Why?" She frowned.

"You just… seemed like you were." I shrugged.

She shook her head but kept her gaze locked in front of her. "No… no hurry," she muttered as she put the car in gear and eased us away from the curb.

"You said you had to be quick on the phone," I said.

Her forehead creased for a moment and then she seemed to remember. "Oh… no. That was… nothing."

I nodded and looked down at my lap. "Okay."

The car went quiet and neither of us said anything else until we paused at the intersection at the end of my street. "Would you put your seatbelt on?" she huffed.

I looked down at myself because I hadn't even realized I wasn't wearing it. "Sure," I mumbled. I pulled the seatbelt across my body and fastened it and then looked back at her just in time to see her shake her head.

"You're like a damn kid. I have to tell you every time," she muttered as we started moving again.

I felt my bottom lip twitch and quiver a little in surprise. I wasn't sure why she seemed so mad but I tried to pretend like she wasn't by going back to what we were talking about before. "I thought maybe you had to get back to work or something and that was why we had to be fast," I rambled.

"It's my day off," she responded.

"Oh. Okay." I nodded. "Where're we going?"

It took her a few seconds to answer, I think because she was focusing on driving. "Union bar," she told me, "I wanna see if they have security cameras and I figured you might wanna come."

My heart skittered. But I could have kicked myself for not thinking of that idea before; it seemed far too obvious to have just been overlooked. Then again, what could I have done even if I _had_thought of it? Just walk into the bar and ask to look at their surveillance tapes? I didn't have a badge or a way with words like Santana did. I was just… me.

"Okay," I mumbled, "Did Officer Puckerman get those lists yet?"

Santana frowned for a moment, and then her expression softened. "Uh… yeah," her answer was hesitant. "But we didn't really find anything," she told me, "I mean, we even ran all the names through the system but aside from a DUI and a few unpaid parking tickets they're all squeaky clean."

I nodded slowly, disappointed, and looked down at my lap. "Okay," I whispered.

Santana took a few seconds to say anything back. "It was always a long shot," she told me gently.

I nodded again. "What about your one? For Fairview?" When I glanced at her, she looked a little surprised that I had asked.

"There's a few people on there I wanna talk to. We'll see how it goes, I guess." She shot me a small smile before looking back at the road again and changing the subject. "The night Blaine Anderson talked to that _Bug_guy," she started, "D'you know what date it was?"

I shook my head. "No. Sorry."

"Shit," she muttered, "Not even roughly? Like, the month or the day of the week or something?"

I gulped and shook my head again. "Sorry," I repeated, "But… Brody said something about there being a pool contest that night."

Santana glanced over at me. "A pool contest?"

"Yeah," I nodded.

"Okay. That's good," she mumbled, I think more to herself than to me.

We drove in silence for a little while after that. The rain started beating heavier against the windshield and eventually Santana had to turn on the wipers because the road became barely visible. She seemed almost reluctant to do it. We paused at another intersection for what turned out to be an inordinate amount of time and I heard her let out a heavy sigh beside me.

"I talked to your neighbors," she told me. I looked over at her.

"You did?"

"Yeah," she nodded, "I was across the street waiting for that old lady to answer the door when I called you. That's probably why I sounded weird or whatever." She shrugged.

"Oh." I bobbed my head up and down. "The police already talked to them when I first made the report, though."

"Yeah," she huffed, "I know. It was in your file. I just figured it couldn't hurt to try again."

I swallowed thickly and looked down at my lap. Were we really so out of ideas already that we had to start covering old ground?

_No_. I internally chastised myself. We were doing something new right now. We were going to look at surveillance tapes. That was good. I nodded at nothing.

"Is this a real police car?" I blurted. It was something that had briefly crossed my mind the last time I was in her car, but not for long enough to warrant the way I spat the question at her right then.

I shook my head to clear it and then pressed my cheek to the headrest so that I was facing her. Santana frowned. "What?"

"It just… doesn't look like one," I explained.

She breathed a laugh and then shook her head. "What d'you mean? It has a two-way radio," she told me playfully. She gestured towards a small, detachable speaker that was mounted on the dashboard and connected by a wire to a high-tech looking digital screen. Up until that point I had just assumed it was a GPS.

"So, you could double up as a taxi cab?" I joked.

"What, like I did the first night we met?" she retorted.

"I didn't pay you. I don't think that counts."

She bobbed her head up and down as the traffic started moving, and she kept her eyes focused out on the road as she spoke. "Yeah, I guess you owe me one."

"I think I owe you like, a million," I mumbled in response.

Santana took a second to say anything back, and I could see her trying to bite back a smile. "I'll have to think about how I can collect on that, huh?" she muttered. I nodded and opened my mouth to start making suggestions but she cut me off before I could. "It's just up here on the left, right?" she asked me.

I looked away from her and directed my gaze outside of the car. "Uh-huh," I confirmed, "You've never been here before?"

"No. Not since college," she answered.

I nodded. "I guess hanging out with a bunch of students probably isn't much fun when you're thirty?"

"Hey!" She glanced away from the road for a second, just to frown at me. "I'm still twenty-nine 'til midnight, asshole."

A giggle spilled from my lips because that was exactly how I had expected her to react, but not a second later I found myself reflexively slapping my hand over my mouth. My brow furrowed as I tried in vain to remember the last time I had made a sound like that.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled through my fingers, before letting my hand drop slowly back down into my lap.

There was a pause before Santana said anything. "…For what?"

I shook my head as I tried to figure out exactly what I was apologizing for, but the right words wouldn't come to me. Fortunately it was only a few moments later that we pulled into the parking lot of the club. I had a sudden, urgent need for fresh air. Santana looked over at me curiously once we'd stopped, but if she thought I was behaving strangely – like I was positive she must have - she kindly didn't mention it.

"It has lights, too," she mumbled while we trudged across the wet parking lot towards the entrance.

I scrunched my face up. "What does?"

"The car," she answered, "it has flashing lights… on the dashboard. You can't see 'em unless they're on but it has them."

I felt my lips pull upwards. "Does it have a siren?"

"Uh-huh." She nodded.

"Can I play with it?"

Santana grinned at that. It was closed-mouthed and it made her dimples sink into her cheeks. It was the first time I had seen her smile that big. "_No,_" was all she said in response.

When we got to the door of the bar she held it open for me and let me go in first. It was still only late afternoon so the place was almost empty. Just a couple of college-aged kids with open laptops and dark circles around their eyes were half hidden in separate corners, mostly in shadow, cowering away from the dim, unnatural light.

When I let my eyes wander, an open-brick column in the middle of the room caught my attention. It hosted a plastic rack full of flyers and pamphlets – one of which stood out right away - and my feet eagerly carried me towards it before I had even thought about why.

_Events Calendar 2012_

My heart rate picked up as I grabbed for it, and after a few seconds I felt, more than heard, Santana walk up behind me to look at it over my shoulder. It was full of pictures so I only had to skim over each page before finding the right one.

"February twenty-fourth," I mumbled.

"Has anybody ever told you, you're a genius, Brittany?" Santana murmured from behind me.

I smiled at that and shook my head as I put the pamphlet back. I thought about saying something in response, but when I turned around, she was already walking away from me and towards the bar. I quickly scurried after her.

The bartender was slow to pay attention to us. In fact, Santana had to clear her throat, just to make her look up from her magazine. She glanced between us with an air of thinly-veiled disdain and then rolled her eyes before pushing her magazine aside.

"Hi, girls. What can I get you?" she asked us in a sickly-sweet drawl.

"Are you in charge, here?" Santana asked, ignoring her question.

"I'm the manager," she answered and then she tapped her name tag – which confirmed as much, as well as the fact that her name was _Terri_- with her pointer finger for emphasis.

"Well, we need to talk to whoever's in charge," Santana told her. She took her wallet out of her coat pocket and flipped it open to flash her badge. "In private, if that's okay?"

Something fluttered, low in my belly, as I watched her. I had to force myself look back at Terri, whose eyes went momentarily wide.

"Uh… I think you want Mr Kirilenko," she stammered, "He's out back." She backed away without waiting for us to respond and then opened a hatch a little way up the bar. Her movements were suddenly jerky and rigid and Santana threw me a brief glance over her shoulder before we followed.

Behind the bar, Terri led us through a heavy, brown door and out into a cold hallway. The walls were brick, painted a dirty white and we had to walk single-file because the floor was littered with garbage bags. I couldn't help but wonder what Mr C would have to say if _Chang's_ever got this messy.

Terri came to an abrupt halt outside another door and I almost walked into Santana's back. "Mr Kirilenko?" she called out, and then she opened it without waiting for a reply. Santana and I paused in the doorway while she went inside.

It was an office, almost as untidy as the hallway, and a dark-haired, heavy-set man with thick eyebrows sat behind a cluttered desk. He seemed indignant at the sight of us.

"Who are they?" he asked Terri in lieu of a greeting.

"They're police officers," she told him. I opened my mouth to correct her but I felt Santana close her fingers discreetly around my wrist. I took it as a warning not to say anything and sucked my lips into my mouth instead.

Mr Kirilenko looked first at me and then his gaze lingered a little longer on Santana before he glanced back at Terri. "You've left the bar?" he mumbled in a gruff, eastern European accent.

"Right… I'll get back out there," Terri replied, her voice losing any trace of the haughty arrogance it had before.

Santana and I moved further into the room so that she could get past and then I heard the door close, leaving us alone with Mr Kirilenko. He narrowed his eyes at us. "You're cops?"

Santana took her badge out of her pocket again and held it up for him to see. "Cincinnati Police Department," she told him, "I just need to ask you some questions."

He sat up in his seat a little and puffed out his chest. "About what?"

"Do you have security cameras here?" Santana asked, stuffing her wallet back in her coat.

He paused for a moment before nodding. "Yes."

"Out in the bar?" she prompted.

Mr Kirilenko nodded again. "Four in the bar, one out back, one in the parking lot," he informed us.

"Okay, we're gonna need to look at any footage you have from February twenty-fourth," Santana stated, matter-of-factly.

He frowned at her. "_Why_?"

"I think one of your patrons might be involved in a missing persons case," she told him, "So just give us the tapes and we'll be out of your hair, okay?"

Mr Kirilenko just gazed at Santana for a moment, incredulous. I edged closer to her so that our shoulders brushed because touching her in some way made him seem less intimidating, somehow.

"No," he finally responded, "We keep them for our archives only."

I felt Santana stiffen beside me. She stepped a little further forward and my shoulder got cold. "You're kidding, right?" she said to him.

He shook his head. "You don't have the right to come in here making demands. I don't care if you're police."

Santana huffed out a frustrated breath and then leaned forwards, placing her hands palm-down on Mr Kirilenko's desk. "Okay, _Yuri_," she spat, "I know stalking young women to take back to red camp is probably just your average Wednesday night back in Gorky Park… but stuff like this is kind of a big deal here. If you don't gimme those tapes right now, you _will_be issued with a subpoena and then you'll _have_ to hand them over. So why don't you save us both some time, huh?"

There was a brief, stagnant silence once she'd finished talking where I silently begged for Mr Kirilenko not to call Santana's bluff. Finally, his body seemed to deflate and his shoulders slumped. He grunted with effort as he got up out of his seat and then rounded the desk, pushing past Santana and flinging the door open. He left us alone in the room and I gasped with relief.

"D'you think he's gonna give 'em to us?" I whispered.

She shrugged at me. "He'd better."

Mr Kirilenko returned a few minutes later, no less agitated than he was when he left. He thrust a clear, plastic wallet, containing what looked like a bunch of blank CDs, at Santana who caught them clumsily against her chest.

"That's the whole twenty-four hours. Good luck finding what you're looking for," he muttered, dropping back down into his seat.

Santana looked down at her hands and smoothed out the creases in the plastic so we could read the label.

_02/24/2012_

"Thanks," she mumbled, "But there was something else." Mr Kirilenko scowled at her but didn't say anything back, so she continued, "Are you on first name terms with any of your customers?"

He shrugged. "Some… Not a lot. Most of them are just kids from the college."

"Okay," she nodded, "D'you know anybody who goes by the name, _Bug_?"

Mr Kirilenko seemed to consider her question for a moment before shaking his head. "I don't think so."

Santana huffed out a breath. "All right. Well, thanks for your time," she muttered.

"Hm," was all he grunted in response.

Santana was quick to leave after that. She grabbed for my wrist again as she brushed by me and pulled me from the room with her.

There were a few more customers in the bar when we got back out there. Terri was serving a young couple and I was glad to have an excuse not to talk to her. It didn't stop her from shooting us a reproachful look as we passed her, though.

The rain was still heavy when we got back outside. Santana held the bag of CDs inside her coat so that it didn't get wet and then she set a brisk pace in front of me as we headed back to her car. To my surprise, she opened one of the rear doors when we got there and slid into the back seat. I saw her hand shoot out and wave me inside a second later.

"What're we doing back here?" I asked as I climbed in after her. I pulled the door closed behind me and then brushed my damp hair out of my face.

Santana was already stooped over and rooting around underneath the seat for something when I looked over at her. "Here we go," she grunted. She sat up and pulled a battered, gray laptop with her. "We're gonna look at the tapes," she told me.

"Right now?" I asked. I figured I was going to have to wait, the same way I did with everything else. I knew she was a busy person.

"Sure. D'you have work today?"

I shook my head. "Not 'til seven."

"Good," she replied, 'Cause this thing's kinda slow. We could be here a while." She tipped the CDs out onto her lap as the laptop powered up and started sorting through them. There were four in total. "Great. These aren't even labelled," she muttered.

"At least we got 'em," I shrugged. I think it was only just starting to sink in because as the words left my lips, I felt a sudden burst of nervous energy. "Santana… what if that guy calls the station to like, check up on you or something? I mean, he saw your badge and you told that lady your name."

Santana kept her eyes focussed on her laptop screen for a moment before answering. "I'll just say I was following up on a lead for another case." She shrugged.

"Okay," I nodded and then my brow furrowed, "How many cases do you _have_?"

She smiled a little. "A few. But they're not all as… _time consuming_as the ones you know about."

I nodded again and looked down at my lap and a few seconds later I heard Santana type something short. I watched her pick up one of the CDs out of the corner of my eye and insert it into the disc tray, and then a few moments later the laptop screen was made up of six smaller pictures, four from inside the bar and two on the outside.

"This is four pm," Santana mumbled, pointing to the small, digital time display in the corner, "What time were they in there?"

I shook my head. "I'm not sure. They said it was at night though."

"Okay," she huffed, hitting the fast-forward button. The little clock sped up, and time rolled forward, "Just keep watching, and let me know if you see anything."

I nodded and folded my leg up underneath me to get more comfortable. After a few minutes of watching nothing in fast motion I started to get a little bored and fidgety. I shifted in my seat and tried my best not to take my eyes off the screen.

"That was really cool when you flashed your badge at that lady," I gushed, just to break the silence. I think I heard Santana stifle a laugh and I really wished I was allowed to look at her.

"Thanks," she mumbled.

I bobbed my head up and down. "If you wanted somebody to do something for you, like go get you a chocolate milk or something… could you just show 'em your badge and then they'd have to do it?" I asked.

I could hear the smile in her voice when she spoke. "Uh… I'm not sure. I've never tried it."

"You should," I told her.

"I'll bear that in mind," she muttered.

It took another few minutes for us to reach the end of the tape, and all we had seen so far was the bar growing steadily more crowded. "So, we need the one that starts at ten pm…" Santana mumbled to herself as she ejected the disc and reached for another. She ended up having to change it over twice before we found the right one.

"Ugh… please remind me why this is the most popular student hangout in town," Santana muttered as we turned our attention back to the screen.

"It's cheap and they haven't carded me in there since I was nineteen," I answered. I couldn't speak for other people, but I know that was the only reason _I_had spent so much time in there before I turned twenty-one.

"I guess that explains why he was so weird about giving up his tapes," she mumbled.

We went back to watching in silence, and I kept my eyes fixed firmly on the camera that was directed towards the entrance. Just after the eleven pm mark, I saw what I was waiting for. "That's Blaine!" I couldn't make out his face but I knew it was him because of his hair and his clothes. I jabbed at the screen and Santana hit the _play_button, forcing the cameras back into real time.

"Don't let him out of your sight," she told me.

I followed him with my eyes as he walked out of shot on one camera and then appeared on the one below it, weaving in and out of the other customers before stopping at the bar. Not even a minute later, two more figures appeared next to him, a guy and a girl. Without warning my throat tightened and I had to force myself to look away from the screen for a second to compose myself.

"You okay?" Santana asked, concerned.

I nodded. "That's Jess," I informed her, "With the beefy guy."

"Oh…" she went quiet for a moment, "If you don't wanna watch this, that's okay," she told me.

I shook my head. "No, it's fine. I wanna help."

Santana didn't say anything back, probably because there wasn't much _to_say. After another little while, Jessica and Brody left Blaine on his own again and then he was approached by a man in a red baseball cap. My heart skipped a beat when I realized who he must have been.

"That him?" Santana asked.

"Yeah," I nodded, "I think so."

Santana sat forward to get a closer look. "I can't see his face," she muttered.

I shook my head. "Me neither." The camera angle was awkward, slanted and from above so the peak of his hat almost completely obscured his face. Not to mention how blurry the image was in the first place.

"_Fuck_!" Santana cursed and I jolted a little. "Sorry," she huffed. She shook her head and hit the fast-forward button again as Blaine and the guy in the hat sat down at a table together. "You know what?"

I let myself glance at her briefly, but she still had her eyes fixed firmly on the screen in front of her. I wasn't sure if she really wanted me to answer or not. "What?" I stammered.

"I really need to talk to Blaine Anderson again."

I frowned at her. "But-"

"I know!" She cut me off. "I can't. But I _need_to. I need a decent description of this guy."

"Okay," I bobbed my head up and down, "But Blaine said he was drunk and it was dark so he didn't really get a good look at him."

"Bullshit," she retorted, "Yeah… fine… it was dark and the guy's wearing a hat, but he must've noticed _something_about him. Ethnicity, facial hair, scars, was he wearing glasses? Did he have tattoos? There's more to a description than fucking hair color."

I nodded again. "Okay…. yeah… well, he said he was scrawny, too," I rushed out.

"Yeah, I can see that," Santana muttered.

We kept watching for at least another ten minutes, until Blaine and _Bug_got up and headed towards the exit. Suddenly, Santana hit the _play_ button again and then looked at me with a furrowed brow. "They left together?"

I shrugged at her. "I guess so."

We watched them disappear through the same door Santana and I came out of before and head out into the parking lot. They stopped and talked for a few seconds and then they separated.

"Shit," Santana whispered, "He's got a car."

I nodded as Blaine disappeared off screen and then Bug headed towards a light blue pick-up truck. He got in and backed out of his parking space and that was when Santana paused the tape.

"Can you make out that license plate?" she asked me.

I squinted at the screen and then shook my head. "Sorry."

"Crap," she muttered, "I'm gonna have to get Puckerman to take a look at this. He can probably tell us what kinda truck that is, at least."

"Sam could tell us, too," I told her, "He works in an auto body shop."

She looked at me and then raised her eyebrows. "I think I'll ask Puckerman first, thanks."

I gave her a slightly dejected nod and looked down at my hands. "Ya know… he didn't mean all that stuff the other day," I told her, "He's really sorry."

I glanced up at her and she shrugged at me. "It's fine."

"Okay," I mumbled.

Santana huffed out a breath and then closed her laptop without shutting it off. "D'you want me to drop you off at work?" she asked me, "You'll probably be a little early."

I shook my head. "It's okay. I need to go home and get my uniform, anyways."

She nodded but neither of us made any move to get out of the car and get back in the front. I twisted a little and leaned sideways against the back of the seat and Santana did the same opposite me. "Today was… good… right?" I murmured, and hoped that she would understand what I actually meant.

"Uh-huh," she replied, "If we can find out what kinda truck that is."

I felt a pressure around my chest ease off and I closed my eyes for just a split second. "Thank you," I whispered.

Santana's lips twitched up at the corners. She let her head fall to the side a little, so that it was supported by the headrest, and her fingers danced nervously over the surface of the laptop in her arms. I wasn't sure if it was because she had been so frustrated only a moment ago and I was startled by the contrast, but I was sure it was the most serene I had seen her look.

"You're welcome," she told me.

/

I had to work again the following day, but it was a short shift. Mr C had left Mike and I to lock up and it was late, but not as late as we usually got off. We always closed early on Sundays.

Mike was sweeping and I knew I should be doing something to help, but I was fidgety and agitated. I had texted Santana a few hours ago, telling her _Happy Birthday_, and I had gotten a brief response a few minutes later that just read: _If you say so_.

It was nothing less than what I had expected but I couldn't stop feeling like I should have said more. She _deserved_more. I couldn't stop thinking about it – about _her_– and I dug my fingers into my temples as my head began throbbing.

"Hey!" Mike said. I felt something touch my arm and when I looked up, he was prodding me with the end of his broom. "Little help?" he teased.

"Sorry," I mumbled as I pushed away from the bar. I grabbed the spare broom and began helping him but it wasn't long before I was lost in my thoughts again.

"You okay?" Mike asked me. I glanced up to find him already looking back at me, leaning on his broom handle and frowning.

"Yeah. Fine," I lied.

"…Okay," he nodded.

He went back to sweeping and I just watched him work for a little while longer. I couldn't help the tiny, reluctant smile that tugged at my lips.

"Hey, Mike?" I said timidly.

"Hm?" He stopped and looked at me again.

"How would you feel about staying a little later tonight?"

His brow furrowed. "Uh… not great, Britt. Why?"

I shrugged and hopped up onto one of the bar stools and then I clamped the broom handle between my thighs and hugged my arms around it. Mike's eyebrows only knitted closer together.

"I kinda need your help with something," I told him.


	6. Chapter 6

**a/n: I know this update is super-quick, but it's really, really short. I literally wrote it in about an hour and a half... so I'm hoping the content will make up for that. Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing, you're all awesome and I always love hearing what you think! Also, shout out to ninjatoad over on tumblr for reading over this chapter for me :)**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

"Stop eating the frosting!" Mike scolded.

I set the spoon back down on the counter and licked my lips. They were still all chocolaty and delicious. Mike shot a reproachful glance at me over his shoulder and then went back to prodding the cake with his finger.

"I think it's cool enough now," he mumbled.

"Awesome," I whispered. He glared at me again as he picked up the bowl of frosting from beside me, and then he set about spreading it over our cake. I leaned against the counter beside him so that I could watch. "D'you think Mr C will be mad at us if he finds out about this?" I asked.

Mike shook his head. "Nah. I consider having access to a kitchen like this a perk of the job," he told me.

I bobbed my head up and down. "Cool."

"So… do I get to know who this is for, now?" he asked me, "Or is it a secret?" He poked his tongue through his lips in concentration as he continued to slather frosting over the cake. He was really good at it.

"Just… this woman," I answered lamely. It was hard to explain who somebody was when technically they weren't anything to you.

"Yeah?" He briefly turned his head to raise his eyebrows at me, "Someone special?"

I nodded slowly. "Yeah… she is," I told him.

"So, are you two…?" He didn't finish the question and suddenly I realized what he was getting at.

"Oh!" I shook my head, "_No_… No, nothing like that. She's just… helping me with something."

"Okay," he mumbled. He didn't ask me to elaborate, although I could tell he wanted to. "So… uh," he cleared his throat, "You couldn't have done this yourself? 'Cause I know for a fact that your Grandma taught you how to bake." A playful smile tugged at his lips now and it made me smile, too.

"I _could've_… but it wouldn't have looked as good as yours," I responded.

"Don't you try to flatter me, Pierce. I finished my shift two hours ago. You owe me."

"I know," I nodded and then nudged his shoulder with mine, "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

He was quiet for a moment as he finished up with the chocolate frosting, and then he turned to me with his eyebrows knitted together. "Tell me what Tina told you about our date last night and we'll call it even," he rushed out.

I scrunched up my forehead. "What d'you mean?"

Mike huffed out a breath and then shook his head. "I dunno… she talked to you about it, right?"

"Yeah… I guess." I shrugged.

"So, what did she say?" he asked, "Did she have a good time?"

I breathed a soft laugh. "Of course she did."

"She said that?" He gazed down at me, imploring.

"Well… yeah," I mumbled, "She's a smitten kitten, Mike. Don't worry so much."

He closed his eyes for a second and nodded. "Right. Sorry." After a short pause he turned away from me, muttering something under his breath about being _neurotic_, before walking over to one of the many cupboards that lined the walls. I watched him root around inside it for a few seconds before he pulled out what looked like a giant syringe.

I frowned at him. "What's that?"

"Frosting pen," he answered, "We got 'em for that wedding party last year, remember?" I nodded, even though I _didn't_ remember, and then I watched Mike fill it with a bag of ready-made frosting that had been sitting on the work surface since we started. I'd been wondering what it was for. "We've only got white, is that okay?" he asked.

"Sure," I nodded.

Mike stepped back over to where our cake was sitting. "What d'you want it to say?"

I shrugged. "Just _happy birthday_, I guess."

He bobbed his head up and down in acknowledgment and then started writing in gorgeous, swirly script. Even with paper and a pen I couldn't have made anything remotely as pretty.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" I whispered. It was intricate work and whispering seemed appropriate, somehow.

"I'm a chef," he shrugged, "I like doing stuff like this. Not usually at midnight on a Sunday… but I _do _like it."

It only took him a few more minutes to finish and I couldn't have been happier with the result… or more grateful to Mike. I was so glad I had asked him to help me. He put the cake on a plate and then put them both inside a large, square Tupperware container before handing it to me.

"Thank you so much for this," I said to him.

"You're welcome," he told me with a smile, "So… does this mean we're cool now?"

I frowned at him. "Cool about what?"

Mike shrugged. "Just… stuff. Ya'know… I've been feeling kinda bad."

When I realized what he meant I rolled my eyes. "I already told you, you didn't do anything wrong."

He looked down at the floor and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I know. It's just… my timing was kind of awful. I know things have been really hard for you lately and I just…"

He trailed off and I felt my skin prickle with heat. I didn't want to talk about this with him. "The last thing I want is for other people to start putting their lives on hold because of me, Mike," I told him, "I'm really happy for you guys, so please don't feel bad, okay?"

There was a pause and then Mike looked slowly back up at me. "I just don't think I acted like much of a gentleman," he mumbled.

I shrugged. "It's okay. Neither did I."

A smile tugged at his lips and he rolled his eyes at me. "Has anybody ever told you, you use humor as a defence mechanism?"

I shook my head. "No. But I don't know any first year psychology majors so…" I shrugged again and Mike chuckled.

"_Fine_… you win," he muttered, "Can we go home now?"

I nodded emphatically. "Yes."

I set the container down on one of the surfaces and then Mike and I gave the kitchen a lackluster once-over to make sure it was presentable for the morning before heading out. I stayed with him and held the cake box over my head to shield myself from the rain while he locked up and then he walked me to my car.

"D'you want a ride?" I offered as I stooped down to slide the cake underneath the passenger seat.

"To drive thirty seconds down the street? I think I'll be okay walking," he teased.

"Suit yourself," I shrugged. I slammed the door shut and Mike pulled me in for a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek before he finally left me. I watched him tug his hood tightly over his head as he walked away and I didn't get in my car until he had disappeared around the corner.

Once I was in the driver's seat I couldn't quite bring myself to start the engine right away. Was I really doing this? It had seemed like such a good idea when I first thought of it. Good enough to warrant making Mike stay late at work. Good enough to justify losing sleep over. I leaned forwards and pressed my forehead to the steering wheel.

I knew it was just nerves that were making me doubt myself but it didn't make it any easier to move. Eventually the quiet was disrupted by a group of rowdy young men who came stumbling around the corner and I knew that I didn't have a choice. Things like that made me uneasy now.

I waited a few seconds while they horsed around and kicked puddles at each other beneath the light of a streetlamp before I started up the engine and eased out of my parking spot.

I couldn't help but be a little concerned for Mike since they had appeared from the same corner he'd passed only moments before. I made sure to drive past his apartment before I set off properly and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding when I saw that his living room light was on.

I was almost halfway to Santana's place before I realized I wasn't completely sure where I was going. I had to pull over quickly to check the text message she had sent me a few days prior just to remind myself of her address before I continued on my way.

It was almost one am by the time I got there. I parked in the same place I parked before and, again, sat behind the steering wheel in silence for a good few minutes before I forced myself to move. I grabbed the cake from underneath the passenger seat and then once I was outside the car I jogged up to the door of her building to get out of the rain in much the same way I had done the last time.

_Unlike _the last time, Santana wasn't standing there waiting for me, but there was a middle-aged man smoking a cigarette. I found the buzzer with _Lopez _next to it and huffed out a nervous breath before pressing it. I _really _hoped she was still awake. I knew it was pretty late to be showing up at somebody's door unexpectedly, but I wanted her to have her cake on her actual birthday.

The fact that it was past midnight was just a technicality.

After a few seconds had passed with no answer, I pressed the buzzer again. I couldn't help bouncing up and down on the balls of my feet. My stomach shook with nervous, excited energy.

When the man stubbed out his cigarette against the wall and then stepped closer to me, I felt my heart rate pick up and I instinctively hugged the cake box tighter against my chest. At first I thought he was just going to go back inside but he paused halfway through the door and looked at me. I could see his face properly now that the light from inside was shining on him. A few pale scars marred his dark skin and he had more wrinkles on his forehead than my Grandma despite the fact that she probably had at least twenty years on him.

He looked _well-seasoned._

"You wanna get in the building?" he asked me with a gentle smile.

I considered his offer for a moment, but then shook my head. I didn't want to go knocking on Santana's door if she was asleep. "No, thank you," I answered.

"Who're ya here to see?" he pressed.

"Um… Santana Lopez," I told him.

He raised his eyebrows at me. "The cop?"

I nodded. "You know her?"

"Not really," he shook his head, "We live on the same floor."

"Cool," I mumbled, bobbing my head up and down.

"I'm Isaac." He put his hand on his chest as he told me.

"Brittany," I responded.

"Well, Brittany." He looked past me and out at the street for a few seconds before his gaze settled back on my face, "You probably shouldn't stand out here by yourself at night. This isn't exactly a salubrious area."

I nodded again and gave him a small smile. He was really nice. "Yeah, I guess I should go," I told him, and my heart sank a little as I said it.

"I'll tell Miss Lopez you came by," he assured me.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

He tipped his head at me and then I turned on my heels and headed back to my car. I knew when he went back inside because most of the light disappeared as the door closed behind him.

I was bent over, sliding the Tupperware box back under the passenger seat in my car when I heard it: another car pulling up across the street behind me. I stood back up and pushed the door shut and when I turned around I saw that it was a taxi.

Santana was climbing out of it.

My heart skipped a beat and as she began crossing the street I instinctively moved towards her. I was glad I did because a couple of seconds later she wobbled and stumbled forwards and I had to catch her around the waist to stop her from falling. She held onto my shoulders and blinked up at me a couple of times.

"Brittany?" A lazy smile spread across her lips and it made me smile, too.

"Hi," I almost whispered. I looked away from her for just a moment as the taxi drove away and after it was gone, things went eerily quiet. It made me glad for the heavy pitter-patter of the rain.

"What're you doing here?" she slurred and I smiled even bigger.

She was drunk.

"I came to see you," I told her, "Where've you been?"

"Puck took me to a bar," she answered. She started blinking quickly again. I think water was getting in her eyes.

"Puck? You mean Officer Puckerman?"

Santana grinned at me and made a sound that was a cross between a hum and a giggle. "It's really cute how you call him that," she mumbled. Her hands moved over my shoulders and she wrapped her arms around my neck. It made my heart beat faster and I swallowed down the nervous giggle that had bubbled up in my throat. She made the front of me so warm in comparison to my back.

"Where is he now?" I asked.

"Mm," she shrugged, "He hooked up with some girl."

I frowned at her. "And left you to get home by yourself?"

"_No_." She gave an exaggerated shake of the head. "He paid for my taxi."

"Okay," I nodded. "C'mon, let's get you inside." I tried to pull back but her arms tightened around my neck and before I knew it she had her cheek pressed to my shoulder.

"No, I wanna dance," she murmured, without actually making any attempt to do it.

I breathed a silent laugh. "I don't think-" The words caught in my throat and the smile fell from my face. I wasn't sure when exactly it had happened, but without warning Santana had her lips pressed to my neck.

At first I thought it might have been an accident. Maybe she had moved her head and her lips had just grazed me, but then I felt her hand moving and her fingers weaving through my hair. Her lips slipped over my skin and she pressed a gentle, open-mouthed kiss just below my ear. My body froze and my heart leaped up into my mouth. All I could move was my hands and that was just to clutch tighter at her waist.

I think she liked that because she pushed her body closer to mine. I felt her tongue dart out before she pressed a firmer kiss just below where she had kissed before and my skin burned and prickled with goose bumps.

The muscles in my stomach clenched and I had to pinch my thighs together to make myself snap out of it. I lifted my hands and wrapped my fingers around Santana's wrists so that I could peel her arms away from me and then I held her at arm's length. "You taste like rain," she mumbled, smirking.

My blood pounded in my ears but I still tried to smile at her. The rain had plastered her hair to her face and there were tiny droplets of water clinging to her eyelashes like snowflakes. Only one side of her face was lit up by the streetlamp outside her building.

"You're so pretty," I almost whispered, "But… um, we should really get inside 'cause we're both gonna catch colds if we stay out here."

I didn't wait for her to agree with me. I turned and draped one of her arms over my shoulders and then I held her steady with my hand on her hip. We staggered towards her building and I squinted my eyes against the rain as it pelted me in the face. It was starting to give me brain freeze.

When we got over there I let go of the hand she had over my shoulder and propped her up between my body and the door. She was heavier than she looked. "Where's your key?" I asked her.

"I have money in my bra," she told me.

"Okay," I frowned, "But where's all your stuff? Your coat and your purse?"

"Uh… in my car," she answered.

"And where's your car?"

"At work."

I closed my eyes for a second and sighed. "So, do you _have _your key?"

She paused for a second and then she stuffed her hand into the pocket of her blazer. A second later she pulled out a bunch of keys and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Which one is it?" I asked as she held them towards me.

"Little silver one," she slurred. I took the keys from her and leaned past her to unlock the door and, unsurprisingly, she fell back a little as it opened. I caught her around the waist again and we managed to stumble across the threshold together.

"I wish your elevator worked," I mumbled as I guided her towards the stairs. Santana didn't say anything back, and the higher we got, the further she slumped against me. I was practically carrying her by the time we got to her floor. I pinned her against the wall outside her apartment and held the keys up in front of her face. "Which one?" I asked.

She squinted at them for a moment and then pointed. "That one," she said.

"That's the same one we used downstairs," I told her.

"Okay. That one." She pointed at a different key.

I rolled my eyes and used it to unlock the door before helping her inside, and then once we were close enough I dropped the keys onto the cluttered coffee table. "Where's your bedroom?" I grunted as she became almost deadweight against me.

"There," she gestured towards the door furthest away from us and we staggered towards it. I pushed it open and then paused.

"This is the bathroom," I told her.

"The other one," she huffed.

There _was _only one more door if you didn't count the archway between the living room and the kitchen, so as we headed towards it I felt safe in the knowledge that it would definitely be the right room this time.

Once we were inside, I sat her on the edge of her bed and switched on the bedside lamp. The room lit up, golden, and it made me feel a little warmer.

"Are your pajamas in here?" I asked her as I headed over to the dresser. If it hadn't have been raining I probably would have just left her to sleep in her clothes, but the front of her blouse was so wet it had become translucent. I didn't want her to get sick.

Santana didn't answer so I pulled the top drawer open anyway and grabbed a tee shirt and a pair of gym shorts. When I turned around she was looking up at me with wide eyes. I couldn't find any trace of the clumsy confidence she'd had outside in her expression, now. She just looked lost.

I smiled as I knelt in front of her. "Can you take off your blazer?" I asked her. She nodded and slipped it off with jerky movements and then dropped it on the floor beside the bed. "Um… and the… gun thingy?"

She nodded slowly again and shrugged off her gun holster the same way you would take off a waistcoat. I took it from her before she could drop it and set it down on top of the crumpled blazer.

Her badge caught my eye, the same way it had that time we were in her car. "Did you go to the bar straight from work?" I asked her. I think she must have noticed where I was looking because she reached down and tugged the badge away from her belt. It came loose easily and she turned it over in her hands.

"No," she mumbled.

My brow furrowed and my eyes met hers again. "D'you mean _yes_?"

She seemed to chew the question over for a second before answering. "Yes."

"Okay," I nodded. I reached forwards to take the badge from her but she held onto it tighter and frowned. Her lips were turned down at the corners and suddenly she looked as if she was about to burst into tears.

"I… can't do it," she whispered.

"Can't do what?" I put my hand on her knee and moved my thumb in gentle circles over the top of her pants, but she didn't answer me, just shook her head. After a few moments, the grip she had on the badge loosened and she let me take it.

"Can you get dressed by yourself?" I asked her. She nodded, so I set the tee shirt and shorts down on the mattress beside her and stood up. I put the badge on her nightstand and then I made a point to stay facing away from her while she changed.

She took a really long time doing it, and after a few minutes I started to wonder if she'd just fallen asleep. I was about to ask her if she had when she spoke.

"I'm done," she mumbled.

"Okay." I turned back to her and I couldn't help but smile because she'd put the tee shirt on backwards, but other than that she had done a pretty good job. I shut off the lamp for her and then I stooped down to pick her clothes up off of the floor before dumping them in a soggy pile on the chair in the corner of the room.

By the time I was done, Santana had managed to wiggle her way awkwardly beneath the comforter and I took it as my cue to leave. I knelt down beside the bed and the way the moonlight shone in through the open drapes made her face look much paler than it was.

"I hope you feel better tomorrow," I whispered.

"You're not gonna stay with me?" she asked in a voice so tiny it almost didn't sound like hers.

I was about to tell her that I had to go home, but the way her eyes looked made me pause. I swallowed thickly. "…Of course I'm gonna stay with you," I told her. I kept looking at her for a second before I stood up again.

I shrugged off my jacket and draped it over the back of the chair before kicking off my shoes, and then I peeled off my tight, black work pants. They were soaked through but fortunately my tee shirt had remained dry so I left it on. It was tight and fitted, white with the _Chang's _logo over the breast pocket, and I had never slept in it before; but I didn't want to ask to borrow pajamas so I crawled into Santana's bed as I was.

She was already asleep. I could tell by how heavy and slow her breathing was. I laid down on the pillow beside hers and pulled the comforter up to my waist and then I watched her for the longest time. I had never seen anybody sleep the way she did before, with an expression like that on their face.

She looked sad.

I think she _was _sad. And suddenly looking at her hurt too much so I moved closer and I pressed my cheek softly to her chest. My hand clutched at the comforter above her stomach and my head moved up and down as she breathed, but none of it was distracting enough. I squeezed my eyes shut against the way they stung and my throat got tight. I wasn't sure what was happening until I felt warm tears rolling down my cheeks.

They fell onto Santana's shirt and made a damp patch but I couldn't bring myself to move. It was the first time I had cried since Jessica disappeared and it felt like somebody carving out the bottom of my heart. I sniffled and my chest ached from trying to stay quiet. I was desperate not to wake her up because for reasons that I didn't understand, the moment was too perfect to spoil.

And even though Santana was sleeping and I was essentially alone in that room, for the first time in what seemed like forever… I wasn't lonely.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

I wasn't sure what woke me up at first. I thought it might be the way the cold was biting at my skin and making it stretch with goose bumps. Or maybe just the fact that it was morning. And then I panicked because I wasn't in my bed and my pants were gone. There was an odd noise coming from somewhere outside the room and as I sat up and rubbed at my eyes with my fists I realized it sounded an awful lot like retching.

And then I wasn't confused about anything other than why Santana wasn't beside me anymore.

I swung my legs off the edge of the bed and clocked the chair where I'd put all of our clothes the night before. It was messier than I thought I'd left it. As I walked, my knees shook a little and when I picked up my pants I realized they were still slightly damp. The thought of putting them back on made me cringe but I gritted my teeth and did it, regardless. They were going to get wet again anyway.

The window was already being pelted with rain… or maybe it had never stopped. I paused with my pants halfway up my legs because for some reason I had always assumed that the rain stopped when I went to sleep and then started up again when I woke up and it was only just occurring to me, how ridiculous that was. I shook my head and carried on with what I was doing.

My zipper got caught halfway up and I was struggling to make it go the rest of the way when I heard somebody clear their throat from the doorway.

"Why weren't you wearing pants?" Santana croaked.

I moved my eyes, but not my face, to look at her. She looked terrible… or as terrible as I'm sure she was capable of looking. Her eyes were bloodshot and half-hooded and at some point she had tied her hair up in a messy pile on top of her head. It didn't stop my lips from quirking up a little at the corners when I noticed that her tee shirt was still on backwards.

"They were wet… from the rain," I told her.

"So you thought you'd just take them off and climb into bed with me?" She crossed her arms over her chest and scowled and I almost wanted to laugh because I don't think I had ever seen anything _less_intimidating.

"You asked me to stay with you," I explained. I finally managed to force the zipper right to the top of my pants and then I grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair and hugged it against my chest. I was going to leave but Santana was still blocking the door and even as I stepped closer to her, she didn't move.

"I did?" she mumbled. Her eyes opened a little wider and her scowl gradually ironed itself out.

I nodded. "Sort of."

Santana bit her lip for a moment and her eyes kept moving between different points on my face. When she spoke again, it was timid… and her words were the last ones I was expecting.

"Will you have breakfast with me?"

/

"Cinnamon Toast Crunch okay?"

"Sure," I nodded. Santana tipped some into a bowl with milk and set it down in front of me but she didn't join me at the dining table. "You're not gonna eat?"

She shook her head. "I already puked my guts up once this morning." Her voice was still a little hoarse. She poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot she'd just made and then turned to face me. "I'm gonna go see if I have any Advil. You okay by yourself for a minute?"

I bobbed my head up and down. "Uh-huh," I answered.

Santana set her mug down on the table and left me there. I could just see into the living room from where I was sitting and I watched her enter the bathroom and half-close door behind her before looking down at my bowl of cereal. She hadn't given me a spoon.

I whipped my head round a couple of times to see if I could see one from where I was sitting, but all the work surfaces were clear so I got up and pulled open the drawer nearest to me. It was a junk drawer, with just a bunch of old letters and thumbtacks inside, and I was about to push it back in when the bottom corner of a photograph caught my eye.

I pulled it all the way out from underneath an empty manila envelope, knowing full-well that I was completely out of line. It was just a picture of Santana and some blonde girl wearing pretty dresses and holding champagne flutes. I probably would have tossed it back right away if it hadn't have been for the look on Santana's face – I recognized that look. Not from her, but from other people - and how oblivious the other girl seemed to be.

Suddenly last night made a whole lot more sense.

"What're you doing?"

I jolted and spun on my heels to find Santana standing right behind me, just a couple of feet away. I hadn't even heard her come back from the bathroom, and now all I could hear was my heartbeat throbbing in my ears.

"I was just… looking for a spoon," I explained. She frowned at me and her worry lines sunk into her forehead.

"Well, they're not in there." She snatched the picture out of my hand and dropped it back in the drawer before slamming it shut, and then she leaned past me to open the one next to it. There _were_ spoons in there. "Here." She handed one to me and then adjusted her shirt… she still hadn't put it on straight. There was more color in her cheeks than there had been before and she wouldn't meet my eyes.

I think she was embarrassed.

"How are you feeling?" I asked her. I sat back down at the table and Santana sat opposite me and started sipping at her coffee.

"Like shit." She shrugged.

I bobbed my head up and down. "Is there anything I can do?"

Santana smiled a little and rolled her eyes. "I guess you can tell me what the hell happened last night."

I didn't answer for a few seconds because I had shovelled a spoonful of cereal into my mouth as she spoke. "What d'you wanna know?" I slurred.

"How I got home?" she said.

"Taxi," I told her, "You don't remember?" I kind of hoped it wasn't the only thing she had forgotten. I didn't want her to be embarrassed.

Santana shook her head. "Not really… You were already here when I got back, right?"

I nodded.

"Why?" she asked.

I lifted my shoulders up and down. "I didn't want you to be alone on your birthday," I explained, "But I'm glad you weren't."

Santana rolled her eyes again and then shook her head. "Yeah… fucking Puckerman," she muttered.

"Your stuff's in your room, by the way," I told her, just in case she hadn't seen.

"Oh, my God." She stiffened and her eyes went wide. "My gun. I-"

"It's in your room," I repeated, cutting her off.

Her body seemed to deflate and she closed her eyes for a second. "And my badge?"

"Same," I replied, "And your purse and your coat are in your car… which is at work." I nodded. That was everything, wasn't it?

"I am such a fucking moron," Santana whispered.

I shook my head. "You didn't do anything wrong. It was your birthday."

Santana pinched the bridge of her nose. "Like that matters," she mumbled, "I guess it's a good job you were here, huh?"

I looked down and started pushing cereal from one side of the bowl to the other with my spoon. I wasn't really that hungry. "What would happen if you lost your badge?" I asked her.

"What, the one I was wearing?"

I nodded in response.

"Not a lot. It's just a dupe," she told me.

"What's a dupe?"

Santana took a long slurp of her coffee before answering. "Duplicate," she clarified, "It's fake."

I frowned at her. "You wear a fake badge?"

Her lips twitched up a little and she looked deliberately away from my face. "Just when I'm on duty. You've seen me use the real one - the one I keep in my wallet. A lot of cops do it."

"Oh," I nodded slowly, "How come?"

"Because the real ones are really expensive to replace… and if you lose it they take it out of your salary and you have to fill out a bunch of paperwork. And they expect you to wear it on your belt… it's dumb."

I nodded again. "Right… so, all cops do that?"

"No," she shook her head, "Just a few. And it's kind of against the rules so…" she trailed off and made a zipping motion over her lips with her fingers. It made me smile.

"Your secret's safe with me," I told her.

"I know it is," she mumbled, "'Cause you need me."

I frowned at that and paused with my spoon halfway towards my lips. "That's not the only reason," I told her. Santana just shrugged and began sipping at her coffee again and I couldn't help but wonder if the sudden silence between us would have felt so loud if she hadn't have made that comment. I couldn't even argue with it, because even though she was wrong… she was a little bit right, too.

"Did you start reading my sister's diary yet?" I asked her. It didn't occur to me until after the words had left my lips, how badly-timed that question probably was, but she answered me anyway.

"I've read it all," she told me.

I raised my eyebrows at her. "Already? Did you find anything?"

She shook her head. "Not really… I mean, she wasn't doing drugs or anything like that, so that's good."

I scrunched my face up. "_Drugs?_ Jess doesn't even drink coffee."

"Well, I know that now," she retorted, "But you'd be surprised how often these things are drugs-related. I just wanted to be sure."

I slowly nodded. "Okay. So… should I take it back?"

Santana shook her head and then winced a little, as if she'd just remembered that she was hung-over. "I told you I'd get it looked at, remember? Along with the note? I gave 'em to this FDE guy who owes me a favor." She sipped at her coffee again.

"To look at the handwriting?"

"Uh-huh," she nodded.

I felt something brighten inside me at that and it took all my restraint not to scream _finally_from the top of my lungs. I settled for mumbling a, "_Thanks_," and Santana nodded back at me.

"Was Jessica always like that?" she asked.

I scrunched up my forehead. "Like what?"

"So… _disciplined_," she answered, "I mean like, ninety percent of what she wrote in there was about school."

I looked down at my cereal again and nodded. "She's just really driven," I told her, "Actually… I'd managed to convince her to take some time off after graduation. A whole year."

Santana raised her eyebrows at me. "Yeah?"

"Uh-huh," I bobbed my head, "She only agreed 'cause it meant she could wait 'til June to take the LSAT but still…" I shrugged.

"So, she was gonna take a year off and then go to law school?" she asked me and I nodded in response. "What was she gonna do in the meantime?"

"Probably just work," I told her, "save up some money. She got a full ride to UC but it's harder to get scholarships for grad school. Especially the good ones."

Santana nodded in agreement. "Where'd she wanna go?"

"Her first choice was Stanford," I answered.

"Yeah?" She raised her eyebrows at me. "That's far away," she murmured.

"M-hm." I nodded and looked back down at my bowl. "I had tickets for the three of us to go to Palo Alto this summer," I told her, "I had to sell my best camera to afford 'em but I thought it'd be nice for Jess to look around the campus and stuff. And Sam totally woulda got a kick outta Silicon Valley. And my friend, Tina, told me the weather's nice there so I figured it could be like a vacation." I realized I was rambling so I stopped talking and shrugged.

When I looked back at Santana she was frowning. "Do they know you sold your stuff to pay for the tickets?"

I smiled and shook my head. "They don't know I bought the tickets at all. I wanted it to be a surprise."

"Right." She nodded and then her brow furrowed. "That must've been a pretty expensive camera."

"Yeah," I shrugged, "I needed it for college, but I haven't used it in years."

Santana took another sip of her coffee and then she set the mug down on the table and folded her hands together. "You went to college?"

I smiled again. "Community college," I clarified, "It's where I met Sam."

"What did you study?" she asked.

"Digital Design and Graphics," I answered, "I thought it might be cool to go into advertising or something." I rolled my eyes at myself. "It's going well so far."

Santana smiled. "Funny how things work out, huh?"

I shrugged at her. "_Chang's_isn't so bad. Did you always wanna be a detective?"

She shook her head. "Not always… but you gotta do something."

"M-hm," I nodded in response and then scooped another spoonful of Cinnamon Toast crunch into my mouth. I really wished she would eat something, too; it was always awkward, eating when nobody else was.

"Santana?" I murmured.

"Mm?"

I paused for a moment so that I could finish chewing and also because I wasn't quite sure how to phrase what I wanted to say. "Is there anything else I can do? …I feel like I'm just sitting around waiting all the time while you're doing all the work, and I think I might be going a little crazy so I just… really wanna help."

I sucked my lips into my mouth and Santana gave me a tiny, ghost of a smile. "Not really," she answered, "I'm sorry. I know it's hard, being patient, but these things take time."

I just bobbed my head up and down and dropped my spoon back into my bowl of cereal. I couldn't finish it. And I didn't want Santana to think I was rushing her. I suddenly didn't know _what_I wanted to do… with my hands or with my words. My heart was beating quicker than it should have been.

"Hey." Santana gently brought my attention back to her. "I'm working the graveyard shift tonight. I promise I'll try to find time to show Puckerman those tapes, okay?"

I nodded again. I didn't even know she hadn't shown him already. "Thanks," I whispered.

"Brittany?" Her features had softened so quickly. The way she looked at me made me feel like a part of me was waking up out of a coma, all foggy and unaware. I wasn't sure what I thought about that.

"Yeah?"

She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times without any words coming out, like she had forgotten how to speak for a moment. "If you wanna… talk about anything – I mean, there's probably not much I can say to make you feel better. But if you need somebody to listen…"

She trailed off and the smile I gave her was both forced and genuine. I didn't know that was possible until right then. "You're the nicest person ever," I blurted, "But I don't think I'd know what to say."

Santana's lips twitched up a little at the corners and she gave me a subtle nod. "Okay," she said. "And… if you're really intent on helping, maybe you could go talk to your neighbors again? Ask if any of 'em saw a blue truck the night Jessica disappeared. That would be helpful."

I gave her an eager nod. "Okay," I agreed.

Santana leaned forward and rested her elbow on the table and then her cheek on her hand. Her smile had grown a little. She looked kind of dopey and I think it was because her eyes were still pink and slightly hooded. "Can I ask you something?" she said.

"Sure," I replied.

I heard her gulp before she spoke. "Did you help me get dressed last night?"

I was a little thrown by the question and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from smirking at the way Santana's ears burned red. "No," I told her, "I got your clothes for you, but you dressed yourself. Don't you remember?"

She shook her head. "All I remember is you helping me up the stairs. But I'm glad to hear I managed to retain some dignity."

"Well, I wouldn't say _that_," I teased.

Santana rolled her eyes. "C'mon," she pleaded, "I'm already embarrassed enough."

There was something surprisingly vulnerable in the way she said it that made my heart swell with affection for her. I felt the muscles in my face soften and relax into an unforced smile. "You shouldn't be embarrassed," I told her gently, "You were actually sort of…" I trailed off and Santana cocked an eyebrow at me.

"Sort of what?" she prompted.

I shrugged. "Sort of… cute."

She bit her lip and looked away from me for a second. "Cute, huh?" she mumbled. "I don't think anybody's ever called me _that_ before." Her ears turned impossibly red and I felt bad and a little stupid for making her even more embarrassed when I had been trying to do the opposite.

I shrugged again. "You know, you're pretty lucky," I said to try to distract her.

Santana frowned. "Lucky?"

"Uh-huh," I nodded, "'Cause your birthday's on April second."

It took her a few seconds to catch on but when she did, she rolled her eyes. "Right…" She bobbed her head up and down. "_Actually_… I'm _super_lucky 'cause I was born right after midnight. I'm pretty sure my Mom held me in for like, four hours just to make sure I wasn't an April fool's baby."

I breathed out a laugh. "That was thoughtful," I said.

"Wasn't it?" she teased.

"Did you get to talk to her yesterday?"

Santana nodded in response. "Yeah, she called me on my lunch break. And she also sent me a gift card for Home Depot, so that was nice."

I wasn't sure if she was being sarcastic or not so I just nodded. "Cool," I mumbled.

"Well, I wasn't even expecting her to call, so-" She stopped short. I knew she had because of the way she sucked her lips into her mouth and looked down at the table afterwards. It made one side of her face go all squishy because she still had her cheek resting on her palm.

"You weren't?"

Santana slowly shook her head. "Not because I thought she didn't want to or anything," she mumbled, "Just… whenever she used to call I was always busy, so now she waits for me to call her. It was a nice surprise, I guess." She shrugged and I smiled. I didn't think loving her Mom was something to be shy about, but I kind of liked that she was.

And I couldn't help but wonder if she loved people as quietly and thoroughly as she did everything else.

"I should probably go now," I said reluctantly after we had gone a few seconds without talking. It wasn't because I wanted to leave; I just knew the longer I left it, the harder it would be. I liked being around her far too much.

"Okay," Santana agreed. We both stood at the same time and as soon as I had picked up my bowl, she took it from me and then dumped it in the sink.

"I kinda need a favor from you, though," I murmured.

Santana raised an eyebrow at me. "…A favor?"

"M-hm," I nodded, "I need you to walk me downstairs. I have something for you, but it's in my car."

She frowned for a second before saying anything back. "What d'you mean, you have something for me?" she asked.

"Come with me and you'll find out," I told her.

I shrugged and tried to bite back my smile and Santana just kept looking at me for a moment. She played with the hem of her tee shirt and bit her bottom lip uncertainly before finally relenting. "Okay," she huffed, her shoulders slumping forwards, "Just wait here a second."

She left me in the kitchen and returned a couple of minutes later, having added a leather jacket and black boots to her backwards pajama ensemble. She waved her folded-down umbrella at me. "C'mon," she said, gesturing towards the door.

I grabbed my jacket from the back of my chair and followed her.

When we got outside, Santana held her umbrella over the both of us to shield us from the rain, much like she had done the first night we met. I wanted to offer to hold it for her, since I was taller, but she seemed to be in a hurry. Probably because she was cold.

"So, is this why you really came here last night?" she asked me.

"Uh-huh," I nodded.

It was the first time I had seen her neighborhood in the daylight, and it was even grayer than I had expected it to be. The fact that it was almost deserted probably didn't help. It was still pretty early. But in all honesty, a mushroom cloud wouldn't have looked that out of place.

When we got to my car I opened the passenger side door and stooped down to pull the cake box out from under the seat. Santana was standing behind me, shivering beneath her umbrella when I turned around. I held the box towards her and she took it reluctantly, cradling it against her body with her free hand.

"What's this?" she asked.

"A birthday cake," I told her, "I made it. Well… my friend made it. He's a chef. But I helped."

Her eyes darted between the box and my face a couple of times once I'd finished explaining. Her expression was unreadable. "You baked me a cake?" she said, her voice cracking a little as she went into a higher register.

"I _helped_," I repeated.

She shifted her weight awkwardly from one foot to the other before saying anything back. "You really didn't have to do that," she told me.

I shrugged at her. It was kind of a drop in the ocean compared to what she had done for me. "I wanted to," I said.

Santana was silent for a few more seconds before nodding. "Well… thanks, I guess," she mumbled.

"You're welcome," I told her. She bobbed her head up and down but she didn't look like she was thinking about going back inside anymore. And she had stopped shivering. "Do you think I should go talk to people at the campus?" I asked.

Santana blinked at me a couple of times. "Uh… what?" she shook her head, as if to clear it.

"That list… I know you said you didn't find anything, but you also said that talking to people was good, so maybe I should go talk to people on the list anyway?"

"Oh…" She cleared her throat and then shook her head again. "I think we should just focus on what we already have, for now," she told me, "There's a lot of people on that list, Brittany. I wouldn't even know where to start."

I looked down and started scuffing my foot back and forth across the ground. "Okay," I mumbled. I didn't look back up until I saw the tips of Santana's shoes move a little closer to mine. "What're you gonna do today?" I asked her quietly.

She gave me a tiny smile and a half-shrug. "I should probably go pick up my car, I guess. Then maybe go back to sleep for a little while." I nodded but didn't say anything back, and then Santana held her umbrella towards me. "Hold this for me?" she said gently.

I took it from her and then she lifted her hand up to my face. Her fingers felt really soft against my cheek and it simultaneously made my heart flutter and my chest ache. She wiped under my eye a few times with her thumb and then she did the same on the other side. "Your makeup's all smudgy," she mumbled, "It's been driving me crazy all morning."

I tried to smile as she took her umbrella back. "Thank you," I murmured.

"No problem. I'll see you soon, okay?" Santana said.

I nodded again. "Yeah. I hope you feel better."

Her lips pulled up at the corners. "Thanks," she replied. She kept smiling at me for a couple more seconds before slowly turning on her heels and heading back towards her building.

I was so busy watching her leave that it took me a little while to realize how wet I was getting now that her umbrella wasn't over me anymore. I walked reluctantly around to the driver's side door and got in my car but I didn't do anything else until Santana had disappeared back inside. When she was gone it felt like a gust of cold inside my chest. I gritted my teeth and against it and shoved my key roughly into the ignition so that I could start the engine.

But as I eased away from the curb, I knew I had no intention of going home. Sam would be at work and the thought of going back to an empty house was unappealing, to say the least. I made a mental note to call him and let him know I was okay once I'd stopped, in case he was worried.

I just had to figure out where I was going, first.

It hit me quite suddenly that I didn't really _have_ anywhere else to go. Usually when I didn't want to be on my own and I needed something to distract me from my thoughts, I would go see Mike.

But I couldn't do that anymore.

There was only one other option, and it wasn't _really _an option, but I was already halfway there before I had even realized I'd thought of it.

/

It had been a while, so when I got to his building it took me longer than I thought it would to find the parking lot.

I marched up to the heavy, glass front door and squinted through the rain as I trailed my pointer finger down the row of buzzers until I found the right one – _Rutherford/Hart_. It wasn't until I was waiting for an answer that it suddenly occurred to me what a mess I probably looked. I was still in last night's work uniform and I hadn't even showered.

"_Hello?_" His voice felt like going back in time.

"It's Brittany," I told him.

There was a long pause before he said anything back. "_Brittany? …What are you doing here?"_

"I need to see you," I told him, "Can you let me in, please? I'm getting soaked out here."

"_Uh…_ _I guess_," he agreed. The buzzer sounded a second later and I pushed my way into the building.

I took the stairs two steps at a time and when I got to his apartment the door was already ajar, so I knocked and walked in at the same time. Matt was standing in front of the couch with his hands stuffed into his pockets.

"What are you doing here?" he asked again.

I pushed the door closed behind me before answering. "I just needed to see you," I repeated. "Is Joe here?"

Matt shook his head. "No. He's at work."

I nodded. "Okay."

We both stayed still and looked at each other for a few seconds without saying anything more. I knew he wasn't going to come to me, so I walked over to him. And then I put my arms over his shoulders. I almost expected him to shrug me off, but after a brief hesitation, I felt his hands on my hips – so I kissed him. It was short. I pulled back to make sure he was okay with it, and he gave me a slow, goofy smile, so I did it again, a little firmer this time.

I felt his hand move to the back of my head and pull my lips harder against his and I sighed with relief. I was so afraid that he wouldn't kiss me back. Matt stepped backwards and tugged me with him and I wasn't sure what he was doing until we both fell down awkwardly onto the couch.

His fingers were already unbuttoning my pants as I shrugged off my jacket and once they were open he broke the kiss to pull his shirt over his head. He dropped it in a puddle on the floor beside the couch and then he weaved his fingers through my hair and pulled us into a kiss again. Fast and hard.

I was pushed backwards so that I was lying down and Matt crawled on top of me and started placing warm kisses over my neck. It was difficult, because we were so close, but I managed to kick off my shoes and lift my butt enough so that I could push my pants part of the way down. Matt sat up on his knees and peeled them the rest of the way off for me and then he began fumbling with the button on his jeans. He didn't take them off, like he had mine – just pushed them halfway down his thighs.

"Are you sure this is okay?" he breathed.

I nodded emphatically, so he sank back down on top of me and I felt his hand pulling my underwear aside… and then his hips pushed into mine.

My mind went blank. It was blissfully meaningless. My brain felt like a TV that was stuck between channels and I never wanted to open my eyes again.

I felt Matt's hand force its way between our bodies but I caught his wrist before he could go any further. I knew it would just make the end come too quickly.

Even so, I was still done long before him, but something about his aggressive, rhythmic thrusting made it impossible to think of anything else, so I didn't mind.

He finished with a wet grunt, and then he collapsed on top of me for a few seconds before clumsily wedging himself between me and the back of the couch. I curled into his chest, but he was completely limp and I had to grab his wrist and pull his arm around my waist to make him hug me. The way we were lying was completely undignified, each of us only half undressed and sweaty and panting. But I didn't care.

"I should go," I mumbled after a few minutes, "I have to work." I sat up – probably a little too abruptly - and swung my legs off of the couch.

"You have work _now_?" asked Matt.

"Later," I told him, "But I need to go home and shower first."

"You can shower here," he replied.

I stood up and grabbed my pants off of the floor and pulled them back on with shaky hands, but I didn't say anything in response. Matt relaxed back on the couch as he re-buttoned his jeans. The smile he gave me was almost disarming.

"C'mon. Don't go yet," he pleaded.

"I don't wanna get back together," I told him. I cringed inwardly as soon as the words had left my mouth… mostly because of the way Matt rolled his eyes at me.

"Who said anything about getting back together?" he asked.

I shook my head as I slipped my feet back into my shoes, but when I went to grab for my jacket, Matt unsnagged it from the arm of the couch before I could.

"Look… I heard about Jess," he said. I felt my chest get tight because talking about Jessica was exactly the opposite of what I wanted to be doing and why I came here. "I'm really sorry," he finished.

I snatched my jacket out of his hands and hugged it against my chest. "How d'you know about that?" I asked him.

"Rachel told me," he shrugged, "I ran into her at the market a couple weeks back."

I shook my head again and tugged my jacket on a little more aggressively than I had intended. "Rachel has a big mouth," I muttered.

Matt finally stood up and stepped closer to me. "She's just worried about you," he argued, "She said you haven't been returning her calls."

I looked down at the floor because his face was uncomfortably close. "I've been busy," I told him. It was easier than trying to explain why I couldn't stand to be around most of my friends anymore.

"Well, are you too busy for me?" he asked gently. I felt his fingers against my chin as he tilted my face to look at him again. When he leaned in to kiss me, I let him because it was easier than _not_letting him. "'Cause I'd really like to see you again."

I wanted to tell him that I wasn't coming back – I almost _did_ – but I knew if I said it, there was a big chance it would turn out to be a lie. So instead, I gave him a subtle nod, turned on my heels and left.

I trudged back downstairs to the exit much less frantically than when I had arrived. I felt heavy and I didn't understand it, because all the times I did this with Mike, I never felt _anything_. I only thought about what we were doing _while_we were doing it.

But this time it wasn't enough. I wanted to go back to Matt already because everything was flooding back too fast.

When I got to my car, I slumped down behind the wheel and brushed my wet hair out of my face before leaning back against the seat. My head throbbed and I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes – I liked the mess of color I usually saw when I did that. Except I didn't see it this time. And whatever I _did_see, I only caught a flash of.

But it made me think of Santana. And then all I wanted was for it to be last night again so that I could fall asleep on her chest.


	8. Recess

**a/n: **I just wanted to make a couple of disclaimers after some of the messages I've been getting about this story (particularly after the last chapter). Firstly: People have asked me why I've included Sam. I like Sam and this is my story and they're the only reasons really. I understand that some people in the fandom aren't very fond of him at the moment, which is why I made it clear in the first chapter that he was going to be a supporting character - so that people could stop reading if they weren't comfortable with that. Secondly: Brittana aren't together yet, so I don't see a problem with what happened between Brittany and Matt in the last chapter. There was a very specific point to that scene, which is why I included it. Brittany and Santana are 25 and 30 respectively. Obviously they're both going to have past loves/hookups and what have you. It would be unrealistic and naive to write it any other way. This isn't a fluffy fic, that was obvious from the start, and things aren't going to be black and white. I welcome and appreciate constructive criticism but most of the messages I received weren't constructive at all, and I'm not sure what to say other than if you don't like it you don't have to read it. I don't mean to be complainy, I just wanted to explain myself :) ANYWAY, enough negativity! A big thanks to those of you who do leave nice/constructive reviews. You're all awesome :) and I hope you like this chapter. It's a bit different to the others!

* * *

"Karofsky, if you drip marinara sauce on my upholstery I will kick you outta this car right now and you can walk your fat ass the rest of the way." I flexed my fingers around the steering wheel and glanced over at Karofsky, who had paused with his sandwich a few inches away from his lips.

"So, you're allowed to eat in here and I'm not?" he whined.

"Damn right," I confirmed, "This is _my_ fucking car. You wanna be a pig? Drive yourself."

Karofsky huffed out a breath and reluctantly re-wrapped his sandwich. "Ya'know, if this partnership is gonna work, you need to meet me halfway _sometimes_," he muttered.

I chuckled mirthlessly and shook my head. "You are _not _my partner, Karofsky. Now, why don't you quit being a whiney little bitch and get your notebook out? We're almost there."

He sighed but did as I said, unfastening his seatbelt and pulling a file folder and pen from his bag behind the seat. I wasn't sure what he did with the sandwich but I assumed he'd put it somewhere safe. He wasn't a _total _idiot.

Flashing lights and yellow tape came into focus through the rain-spattered windshield as Karofsky righted himself again. "Would it really be the worst thing in the world?" he mumbled as he began tapping an irritating rhythm with his pen on the back of the folder, "I mean, it'd get Sylvester and Goolsby off your back. And it's not like we don't work well together."

I shrugged, but I didn't say anything in response because I knew he was right.

I hated that.

"Look, Lopez," he sighed, "I know you're still raw about what happened with-"

"Don't!" I cut him off, "Just… _don't_." I felt my grip on the wheel tighten, so much so that my knuckles turned white. "Look, if you wanna accompany me to crime scenes and share a desk and call it a _partnership _that's your prerogative. But don't expect me to go along with it, okay?"

I eased to a stop just behind the cordoned-off section of street to which we'd been summoned and switched off the engine. Karofsky was shaking his head at me. "Fine. I get it. You work _alone._" He rolled his eyes. "But the way I see it, you can either choose to partner up with me, or you can wait for them to partner you up with somebody you probably won't like. Why not save yourself the headache?" He shrugged and I focused my attention outside the car for a moment.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Karofsky. I may find you marginally more tolerable than most of the morons we work with, but that doesn't mean I _like _you." I shrugged right back at him and Karofsky smirked.

"Yeah, well… likewise," he muttered. He straightened up his tie and smoothed out a few invisible creases in his jacket before glancing over at me again. "Shall we?"

I nodded in response and we exited the car at the same time.

A uniformed officer was waiting for us, scribbling something inside a pad beneath the light of a streetlamp. Karofsky and I ducked under the police tape and then the three of us slipped between a squad car and a fire truck before narrowly avoiding a collision with a fire fighter who was obviously in a hurry to leave. I couldn't blame him; it was like being in a fish bowl. A small crowd had gathered behind the yellow tape on the other side of the street.

"Two dead," he informed us as we walked, "One of em's been identified as Nathanial Moore. He rented the property."

"What about the other one?" Karofsky asked.

The officer shook his head and squinted up at him. "We dunno who she was yet. There was nobody else in the house or the basement. Jane Doe was the only other victim."

"Any witnesses?" I raised my eyebrows, sceptical.

"Just one," he responded and gestured towards an ambulance about twenty yards in front of us, "Name's Daniel Guzman. He was the only person outside when it happened. Everybody else came out after."

"Thanks," I mumbled before I bee lined for the ambulance, Karofsky hot on my heels.

We climbed inside to find a young man of ambiguous ethnicity slumped over on the edge of a gurney. He was holding an oxygen mask over his face with a heavily bandaged hand and his clothes and the parts of his skin I could see were covered in black smudges. He was wet, too, and I couldn't tell what was sweat and what was rainwater. Whatever paramedic he was being treated by was nowhere to be seen, so Karofsky and I sat opposite him.

"Mr Guzman? I'm Detective Karofsky, this is Detective Lopez," he introduced us, "Is it all right if we ask you some questions?"

Daniel slowly lowered the mask away from his face and nodded. "Sure."

"Can you tell us what happened, here?" I asked.

He was slow to respond. "Uh… she pulled into the driveway and-"

"Who?" I cut him off.

"I dunno," he shrugged, "Just some lady. She parked right in front of the house and went in and then the whole place blew up."

Karofsky stopped scribbling in his file and frowned. "What, right after she went inside?"

"Yeah," Daniel nodded, "I saw the flames first. I think they were coming outta the crawlspace, and then the house just exploded. I tried to save 'em, man." He shook his head and his face contorted in pain. "I ran over there but I couldn't even get past the car. It was too hot."

"It's okay," Karofsky assured him gently, "It's not your fault."

"What were you doing outside so late?" I asked him.

Daniel frowned at me. "It was only like, eleven. I'd just got back from walking my girlfriend home."

"Okay," I responded, "D'you live alone?"

"No," he shook his head, "I live with my Mom… right across the street. But the lady who fixed up my hands made her go back inside the house 'cause she kept screamin' at me."

I frowned. "Screaming at you?"

"Uh-huh. For going near the fire," he answered.

Karofsky shot me a furtive smile, but remained quiet. "Did you know Nathanial Moore?" I asked.

"Nate?" he replied, "Not really. I mean, we spoke sometimes, but we weren't friends or nothin'. Just neighbors."

"All right," I sighed, "Well, thank you for your time, Mr Guzman. There should be another officer along soon to take a statement from you, okay?" I got up and hopped down out of the ambulance without waiting for a response and I heard Karofsky's shoes scuffing across the ground behind me a couple of seconds later.

"That seem a little weird to you?" he asked once he'd caught up.

"What? That the place blew up right after she went inside?"

"Yeah," he replied. I glanced over at him and saw that he was trying to shield his notes from the drizzle with the front of the file whilst still writing. It looked awkward as hell.

"Maybe she just switched on a light. Woulda been enough to trigger the explosion if there was a gas leak." I shrugged.

We trudged up the driveway towards the house and I flattened out my damp hair with my hands as we crossed threshold. The CSI unit was already swarming the place and I tried in vain to sidestep as much of the charred wood that littered the floor as possible. One of the team – an older woman – held a box of latex gloves out towards us so that Karofsky and I could each take a pair, and then we headed for the kitchen – so blackened and burned out that it was barely recognizable as such - because that was where most of the action seemed to be.

An investigator was exiting the basement just as we got there. I glanced nervously between his face, the badge that hung around his neck and the broken chunk of metal he was carrying as he dropped it into a transparent, plastic bag.

"That what I think it is?" I mumbled, frowning.

"Part of a beam scale," he answered, "We also found a hot plate and there was a bunch of rubber tubing in the back yard."

Karofsky and I exchanged a look. "Meth lab," I sighed.

"Guess that rules out your gas leak theory, huh?"

/

When we got back to the station, I let Karofsky go in ahead of me while I hung back in the car under the pretence of filling out paperwork. I mostly just wanted – _needed_ - a minute alone.

In the end I took five.

I took the stone steps up to the front entrance at a snail's pace and then headed out back toward the offices. I was hoping upon hope that Karofsky would be off somewhere eating his sandwich, but no such luck. He was slumped back in his chair and enjoying what looked like a good natured conversation with some of the other detectives. Goolsby had perched himself on the corner of the right angle that my desk made with Karofsky's, but it didn't seem like he was a part of the conversation.

"Sergeant," I greeted him as I dropped down into my seat.

"Detective," he returned, "A little birdie told me you just busted a meth cooker?" He smiled amiably as he brushed some invisible dirt off of his blazer.

"Well, the lab exploded and the chef's dead so, I don't think we can claim too much credit," I retorted. Karofsky's head whipped round and he narrowed his eyes at me. I felt an overwhelming urge to flip him off.

"You're too modest, Lopez," Goolsby teased, "Anyway… Sylvester wants to see you upstairs."

"Why?" I frowned.

"I dunno. Maybe she wants to make this official." He gestured between me and Karofsky and then winked.

I bit back the diatribe that threatened to spew from my lips. "Okay," I muttered, clenching my fists as I glanced a couple of times between Goolsby and my cluttered desk. I had so many things I should have been getting on with. I shrugged off my coat and left it hanging across my chair as I stood, and then I headed towards the stairwell.

/

I hesitated before I knocked on her office door. My stomach tensed and then I heard a muffled voice giving me permission to enter, so I poked my head inside.

"You asked to see me, Captain?" I said.

Captain Sylvester looked up from her desk and then gestured toward the chair opposite her. "Have a seat, Lopez," she told me. I slipped inside and closed the door behind me and then I did as she said.

She barely looked away from her computer as I sat down, and after a few long, silent seconds I cleared my throat impatiently.

"Are you still seeing your therapist?" Sylvester asked me without taking her eyes off the screen in front of her.

"Uh… yea- _Yes_, Ma'am." I nodded.

She finally looked at me and narrowed her eyes. "That's funny, because I called her and she said she hasn't seen you in months."

My heart rate picked up and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "So much for confidentiality," I mumbled.

"I think that only applies if there's something to keep confidential," she argued.

I huffed out a breath. "Look, is this actually going to be a problem? Because it's not like I was ordered to see her. I believe _strongly suggest _were the words you used."

"Don't play dumb, Lopez," Sylvester retorted, "You and I both know what that means. Now, you can either resume your sessions immediately or I can have you put on desk duty. Your choice."

I felt my skin prickle, hot with irritation, and I pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head. "Fine," I muttered, "Will that be all?"

I let my hand fall back down into my lap and Sylvester pressed her lips together in a thin, tight line. "No," she answered curtly, but she didn't elaborate, and we remained uncomfortably quiet for a few moments before I cleared my throat again.

"I don't mean to be disrespectful or anything, Captain," I told her, "But is there any chance we could hurry this along? I've got a stack of paperwork on my desk this high." I lifted my hand and held it just above my head for a second. "And a very persistent ADA who won't stop emailing me about the Delgado case, so-"

"I'm aware of your workload, Detective," she cut me off, "Which is why I'm so curious as to how you found time to visit Carl Howell last week…?"

My mouth slammed shut and the wind left my body like somebody had taken a sledgehammer to my chest. I tried my hardest to keep my expression neutral - I didn't want her to know how much she'd rattled me – but when I tried to speak my bottom lip trembled and no words came out.

"Did you _really _think I wouldn't find out?" she spat, incredulous. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't suspend you right now."

I opened and closed my mouth like a guppy a couple of times before I regained the ability to speak. "You…" I gulped. "You need me."

Sylvester chuckled mirthlessly and shook her head. "Don't kid yourself, Lopez. Nobody's indispensable."

Her saying that probably shouldn't have made me feel _more _confident… but it did. Because I knew that it wasn't true. There was nobody else who could do my job as well I as I did it. I sat up straight and puffed out my chest. "Fine… So, suspend me." I shrugged.

Sylvester pursed her lips and scowled. Her jaw tightened and I could hear her grinding her teeth together - it made me cringe internally, but I remained stoic. When she spoke, it was low and full of contempt.

"I'll be calling Emma Pillsbury tomorrow to schedule another appointment for you. I _strongly suggest _you keep it. Now, get out of my office."

I knew she was letting me off the hook, and I shot up quicker than I should have and made my way back across the cluttered room before she could change her mind. Just before I left she called my name again, and I paused with the door halfway open but I didn't look back at her.

"If you ever pull anything like this again it won't just be a suspension you're facing. Do you understand?" she asked.

I gave a single nod in response and then I slipped out of the room and pulled the door closed behind me.

Back downstairs I was glad to find that Goolsby was gone. I rolled my eyes at the two detectives who were throwing a baseball back and forth between different corners of the room and then I slumped down in my chair.

"I got you a coffee," Karofsky murmured as he pushed a mug across the desk towards me without looking away from his computer.

"Thanks," I replied and he mumbled something unintelligible back. "Are you gonna be long? 'Cause I need to respond to some emails."

Karofsky shook his head but it seemed distracted. I don't think he had really heard me. "They've identified the second victim. The woman," he informed me.

I frowned. "Already?"

"Uh-huh," he nodded and finally turned his attention towards me, "They managed to salvage the licence plate from her car. Name's Maureen Campbell. Lived with her mother in Avondale."

I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. "Has she been informed?"

Karofsky raised his eyebrows at me. "You're the primary for this case," he shrugged.

I already knew that, but my heart still sank. "Right," I huffed.

"You okay, Lopez?" He frowned at me. "You look a little green."

It was strange how I hadn't noticed until he said it, but I did feel queasy. I wasn't sure if it was just the remnants of my hangover from this morning, or what happened in Captain Sylvester's office, but I had to shake my head to clear the fog. "I'm fine," I mumbled, "C'mon. Let's go get this over with."

I downed as much of my coffee as I could in five seconds and then I stood and grabbed my coat from my chair. Karofsky reluctantly followed my lead.

/

I placed my elbows on my desk and leaned forwards. My fingers dug hard into my temples and I didn't open my eyes until a firm hand on my shoulder made me jolt. It was just Goolsby. I was tired and I blinked up at him a couple of times until he came properly into focus.

"It's eight am, Lopez," he informed me, "Didn't you finish an hour ago?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head. "It's eight?" I asked, playing dumb. It's not like I could tell him I had stayed an extra hour just so that I would be there when Puckerman started his shift.

"Uh-huh," he confirmed with a nod, "You look like you could use some rest."

"Yeah," I agreed. Goolsby gave me a tight-lipped smile and then left me alone at my desk, so I half-heartedly cleared away some of the clutter before grabbing my coat and leaving.

I was hoping that I would just happen to bump into Puckerman on the stairwell, or maybe by the front desk, but things never worked out that way. When I got to the men's locker room, I made sure I was alone before opening the door and slipping inside.

There was only one other person in there that I could see. St James widened his eyes and clutched his shirt against his bare chest to cover himself up. "What're you doing?" he gasped.

"Where's Puckerman?" I asked, ignoring his question.

"He's peeing," he told me.

I rolled my eyes. "Well, tell him to come meet me in my car when he's done. I'll be in the parking lot." He just narrowed his eyes at me instead of answering, but I knew he would do it, and I made sure to look him up and down nice and slowly before I left. Purely because it was so satisfying to watch him squirm. "Tighty whities?" I raised my eyebrows.

St James gave me a mirthless smile. "It's laundry day."

I bit back a laugh as his ears turned pink, but I decided not to humiliate him any further before I left.

When I got outside, I was irrationally surprised that there was daylight. Night shifts always threw me off. I squinted and headed towards my car, and once I was inside I immediately grabbed for my laptop and powered it up so that it would be ready when Puckerman joined me. I opened up the screenshots I'd taken from the Union bar's security footage just as the passenger side door swung open.

"We need to be quick," Puckerman told me as he climbed in, "What's going on?"

"I just need you to tell me what kind of truck this is," I answered. I turned the laptop so that he could see the screen and he frowned.

"D'you have any pictures of the front?" he asked.

"Uh… sort of. It's more the side," I mumbled as I skipped to the next shot. I pointed the screen at Puckerman again and he chewed the inside of his cheek for a few seconds before saying anything.

"It looks like a Chevy C/K," he told me.

"Okay. What year?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I'm not sure. Definitely nineties."

"All right," I huffed. I closed the laptop and threw it as gently as I could onto the back seat before facing him again. "I want a list of every Chevy C/K owner in the city."

Puckerman frowned at me again, his worry lines sinking deep into his forehead. "Santana… there could be-"

"I know," I cut him off, "There could be five, there could be five _thousand_. But we won't know unless we check." I shrugged.

He rubbed his hand nervously over the back of his neck and then shook his head. "Fine. But I wanna know what this is for," he told me.

I pursed my lips for a second. "Puck… I-"

"I have a right to know," he interrupted. We went quiet for a moment, but his gaze was unwavering and I knew him well enough to know that he wasn't going to let it go. I had already pushed my luck.

"It's for Brittany Pierce," I reluctantly told him.

His brow furrowed for a moment, and then he raised his eyebrows in realization. "Wait… crazy-missing-sister-girl?"

"She's not crazy," I was quick to argue. "I've been helping her."

Puckerman shook his head, exasperated. "Okay… And you think that's a good idea?"

I shrugged. "Probably not. But what else was I supposed to do? Nobody'll listen to her."

He breathed a laugh. "Yeah…There's a reason for that, Santana," he stated.

"Uh-huh. They're all fucking morons. _That's_ the reason," I retorted.

Puckerman pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head in defeat. "I don't have time for this right now," he mumbled, "I'll do what you want me to do, okay? But we need to talk about this some more."

I shrugged at him again. "Fine," I said, eager to end the conversation.

He took his hand away from his head and then sighed. "So… I take it you got home okay after I left?" he said quietly.

"Yeah. No thanks to you," I muttered.

"Hey, you said you were okay with it."

"Whatever," I returned. It's not like I remembered, anyway. "Don't you need to leave?" I raised my eyebrows at him and Puckerman deflated.

"Fine," he mumbled. "I'll call you later, okay?"

"Can't wait," I teased.

He rolled his eyes at me before getting out of the car, and I immediately started up the engine and switched on the wipers. I wasn't eager to get home so much as I was eager to get away from work.

And as I pulled out of the lot, I felt a pressure around my chest release just a little bit.

/

I parked right behind my building when I got home and slumped back in my seat for a few seconds before I mustered up the energy to move. I didn't have my umbrella with me but my car was a short enough distance away from the front entrance that I didn't get completely soaked.

I trudged up the stairs towards my floor and just as I got to my apartment, one of my neighbors came out of his.

"Oh. Miss Lopez!" he called as he walked towards me.

I paused with my key in the door and tried to smile. "Hey," I greeted him. I felt a little bad that he knew my name and I couldn't remember his.

"There was a young lady here," he said as he slowed to a stop beside me, "Not last night, but the night before. She was looking for you. Said her name was Brittany."

My stomach flipped at hearing somebody else say her name and I slowly nodded. "Yeah, it's okay. She found me," I told him.

He smiled so big it was almost contagious. "That's good," he replied. "I felt wrong leaving her out there by herself."

I shrugged. "She's a big girl," I told him.

He nodded and then patted my shoulder. "Well, I gotta get to work," he told me, "Have a nice day, Miss Lopez." He continued on his way and I watched him until he reached the stairwell before I went inside.

The first thing I did was shrug off my coat and my gun holster and dump them on the couch - I felt half as heavy without them - and then I headed for the kitchen. I knew I was almost out of food, but I opened the refrigerator, regardless, and leaned my whole body against the side of the door so that it was practically supporting my weight.

There were only two things inside: a carton of milk that I was sure had expired, and Brittany's cake. I felt my lips pull up at the corners when I looked at it. I hadn't started eating it yet, partly because I hadn't had a chance and partly because I didn't want to ruin it.

I sighed and closed the door again, defeated. And then I headed toward my bedroom because sleep was the next best thing after food. I didn't even bother changing out of my work clothes; I just collapsed face-down on my bed.

My eyes drifted closed and it can't have been more than a few seconds later that I was asleep.


	9. Chapter 8

**a/n: Thank you for all the nice messages and reviews. Hope you like the chapter! :)**

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

It's not exactly a secret that Cincinnati can be a difficult place to live sometimes, just like a lot of cities. I'd been here my whole life without giving that fact much thought because I'd never needed to. And then the place swallowed my sister whole.

For the first time I realized how small we really were.

There was a park with a playground about three miles from my Grandma's house where she used to take us to play when we were little. Jessica and I had named it the _Choo Choo Park _because the railroad tracks ran right past it, but I don't think it was really called that.

It was like purgatory, because on the one hand it was green and pretty and full of wildlife. It was nature, and you almost couldn't tell you were in the city… _almost_… because you could still hear the traffic, and the fresh air was only faintly layered on top of the lingering smell of fumes from the old gasworks down the street.

And when you played there, you were just kind of suspended between the two.

I was sat on a bench just behind the chain link fence that separated the play area from the rest of the park. It wasn't raining for change, although it had been earlier and the clouds above my head looked black and fit to burst again. There were a couple of families taking advantage of what I was sure would only be a brief dry spell, as well as an elderly man walking his dog out in the field.

There was also a young woman and a little boy whom I hadn't been able to take my eyes off of for the longest time. The boy can't have been more than three and they didn't look much alike at first glance, but when he smiled I could tell they were mother and son.

As they played, they dipped in and out of being silhouetted by the air around them, and what I would usually have described as gray looked more like their own personal silver lining. I felt the first spot of drizzle just as the Mom scooped the little boy up in her arms and then propped his legs over her hips. She kissed his face and supported his weight as he leaned back and the look they exchanged made me feel like an intruder

There was something about walking in on that kind of love that made me feel so tiny. Like the park could swallow me up just like the city had done my sister.

I suddenly felt uneasy, and as I got up off of the bench and headed toward home, it started to rain again.

/

My Grandma made it a point to teach Jessica and I how to cook when we were younger. Jess was never really that into it because she didn't like anything she wasn't good at right away, but it became one of my favorite things to do. Making stuff was fun… and making stuff that you could eat afterwards was even better.

I'd gotten a little slack on the cooking front lately, for obvious reasons, but after my park excursion failed to take my mind off things the way I'd hoped it would, I decided to get back in the kitchen.

I wasn't making anything fancy, just a lasagne. I was really hoping that Sam would come home from work while it was still in the oven, because walking into a house where somebody was cooking something delicious was one of the best things ever.

But it was almost ready and there was no sign of him, so I gave him a call. It took him longer than usual to pick up and I assumed it was probably because he was driving.

"_Hello_?" he said.

"Hey, you almost home?"

There was a momentary pause before he answered. "_Uh… no. I'm staying with Mercedes tonight, remember?"_

My brow furrowed. "You are?" I asked.

"_Yeah. Didn't I tell you?"_

I shook my head, even though he couldn't see me. "No," I replied.

"_Oh…" _he mumbled,_ "Sorry._" He just breathed for a moment, but when I didn't say anything in response he spoke again. "_Is everything okay? Did you need the car or something?_"

I glanced back toward the oven for a moment, and then shrugged. "No, I just… It's fine. I'll see you tomorrow, I guess."

"_Uh-huh,_" he replied. "_I can come by after work and take you to Chang's if you want_?"

"Sure," I agreed, nodding.

"_It's a date,_" he said, "_See ya tomorrow._" The line went dead before I could even say goodbye, and I set the phone down on the dining table, a little crestfallen.

The last thing I wanted to do was eat lasagne by myself. I didn't want to do _anything _by myself, but being around people didn't seem all that appealing either. I just wanted to eat dinner with Sam and not talk, but also not be alone.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head. It was times like this, when I was at a loss for what to do with myself, that I ended up doing things that maybe I shouldn't. I wanted so badly to be done with that… but I found myself reaching for my phone again in a matter of seconds.

I had just got to the _M _section in my contacts when there was a sharp knock at the front door. I scrunched my forehead up because I wasn't expecting anybody and I knew Sam couldn't have gotten home that quickly if he'd changed his mind.

I tossed the phone back on the table before heading out of the kitchen and towards the front door. When I opened it, it felt like something had started flittering around inside my chest. And at the same time, I wondered how it was possible that it hadn't even been raining a few hours ago.

Santana was soaked through, her shoulders hunched, and still shivering in spite of the shelter the front porch provided. "Hey," I breathed.

Her lips pulled up at the corners. "Hey," she said back a little timidly.

I stepped aside and held my arm out behind me. "Come on in," I told her. She did as I said, stepping across the threshold and combing her fingers through her wet hair as I closed the door behind her. "I didn't know you were coming over," I stated.

"Yeah… actually, I just came by to give you something," she mumbled. She stuffed her hand into her purse and rooted around inside it for a few seconds before pulling out a creased-up white pamphlet. She held it towards me and I took it hesitantly, frowning when I read what it said on the front. "I was thinking about some of the things you've told me, and… I found this," she said.

"Bereavement support group?" I muttered, indignant. "My sister's not _dead_."

"No!" Santana's eyes widened and she shook her head. "_No_, I know. It's just… what you're going through right now is _similar_ to grief. And…" She huffed out a breath and started toying nervously with her coat sleeve. "And you _have _lost people, and I just think this could maybe help you. That's all."

I didn't say anything for a moment, and my eyes kept on flicking between Santana's face and the piece of paper in my hands. I hadn't even considered anything like this. Talking to strangers wouldn't make people come back.

"I…" I shook my head and cleared my throat. "What would I do there?" I asked.

Santana shrugged. "Just talk… and listen. Meet other people who might have a chance of understanding how you feel." I gulped and nodded in response, looking back down at the pamphlet. "Look, I know it sounds lame," Santana continued, "And you don't _have _to go. It's just an idea."

I slowly nodded before glancing back up at her. "If I went, would you come with me?" I asked, barely above a whisper.

Santana raised her eyebrows at me, but the action seemed to be involuntary. Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times, and then finally, after a few seconds, she gave me a resolute nod. "Of course," she agreed.

"Okay," I huffed, "Can I think about it?"

She nodded again. "Sure."

We lapsed into silence for a few seconds and Santana gave me a strained, tight-lipped smile. She shoved her hand into her pocket and let out a heavy breath. "I should probably go," she told me. I nodded in response and she stepped toward the door again. She had creaked it halfway open before the thought occurred to me.

"Santana," I blurted. She paused and looked at me. "Um…" My hands felt too empty so I started playing with the hem of my shirt. "Do you… maybe wanna stay for dinner? Sam just bailed on me and now I have too much."

She frowned adorably at me. "Dinner?"

I bobbed my head up and down, and Santana's eyes darted around the room a couple of times before settling back on my face. She glanced down at her watch and then shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other. "Sure," she nodded, "I can stay for dinner."

I smiled in relief and Santana pushed the door shut before I led her out into the kitchen.

/

"You like lasagne, right?" I asked. Santana nodded in response and I set a plateful down on the table in front of her. I poured us each a glass of cranberry juice because it was all I had and Santana didn't start eating until I had joined her.

"This is really good," she mumbled.

I smiled at that. "Thanks."

We ate quietly for a little while, and just listened to the rain still pounding against the window. I started to get a little self-conscious about where I had chosen to sit, adjacent to Santana rather than opposite her. I felt like maybe I was too close. I just always found having somebody directly in front of me while I was eating kind of distracting.

"Were you on your way home from work?" I asked her.

Santana shook her head and finished chewing before she answered. "_To_, actually," she corrected. "I'm working nights all week, but I've got paperwork to finish so I figured I'd try to get there a little early."

I nodded my head up and down. "How was last night?" I asked. "I hope you didn't still feel icky."

Her lips twitched upwards and she shrugged. "It's okay. I slept through most of today so I'm all better now," she told me.

I nodded. "That's good," I almost whispered.

"Did you get a chance to talk to your neighbors, yet?" she asked me.

I cleared my throat and reluctantly told her, "_Yes,_" before taking another bite of food.

"Any luck?"

I slowly shook my head. "None of 'em saw anything," I mumbled.

Santana bobbed her head and then we lapsed into a horrible silence. I heard her huff out a breath after a few moments as she turned her attention toward the window above the sink. Her hand kept a loose, distracted grip on her fork. "Fucking rain, huh?" she muttered.

I was grateful for the change in topic and I nodded. It was strange to think that only last summer I had spent entire days at the beach with Matt before returning home in the evenings with sand in my pockets and the sun baked so deeply into my skin that it warmed my blood. That all felt so far away now.

"I went for a walk when it stopped this afternoon," I said, "It was nice."

Santana's head whipped round and she frowned at me. "It stopped?"

"Uh-huh," I confirmed.

"You're fucking kidding me_,_" she muttered, "While I was asleep?" Her frown deepened and I tried to give her a consolatory smile.

"It was only for like, an hour," I told her with a shrug.

She bobbed her head up and down and then looked down at her plate as she pushed her food around with her fork. "I only woke up a couple hours ago," she admitted, "I always feel like I'm missing out on things when I work nights."

I couldn't help but breathe a soft laugh at that. "It was just some dry weather," I said before taking another bite of my lasagne.

"I know," she sighed, "I just really hate the rain." She rolled her eyes at herself.

"Yeah, Sam's the same," I told her.

Santana slowly looked back up at me and then pinched her lips together for a second. "How come he bailed on you?" she asked.

"We just got our wires crossed," I explained, "I didn't know he was staying over with his girlfriend tonight."

"Right." She nodded. "Does he stay there a lot?"

I shrugged. "A few times a week. Or maybe more than that recently."

Santana chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment, her eyes studying my face. When she spoke again, her words were muted and hesitant. "That seems a little… weird," she mumbled.

I shrugged and looked down at my plate. "It's not like I've been much fun to be around lately," I said.

"And you think that excuses him from being a decent friend?"

I just shrugged again in response, because I didn't think that at all. But I also didn't know why it was so much easier to be around somebody who was happy and not hurting. It didn't seem fair, but that wasn't Sam's fault.

"I don't think I'm handling all this very well," I murmured just as Santana took another bite of food.

She frowned and covered her mouth with her hand as she spoke. "What d'you mean?" she slurred.

I shook my head because I wasn't really sure. "I don't know," I whispered.

She kept looking at me with a mixture of confusion and sympathy as she finished chewing, and then she took a sip of her cranberry juice. "I think you're doing okay," she told me.

I raised my eyebrows, skeptical. "You do?"

She nodded in response and then she chewed on her bottom lip for a few moments. She seemed to be mulling something over in her head. "I remember this one time when I was younger," she said softly, "I asked my Dad how it was possible to survive in a world like this and still be a good person who does the right thing." She took another sip of her drink before setting her glass down and then she huffed out a breath. "He told me you couldn't." Santana shook her head and my brow furrowed.

"I don't think I understand," I mumbled.

She shrugged at me. "Up until a couple weeks ago, I sort of believed that was true. But then I met you and even after everything, you're still sweet. So, like I said… I think you're doing okay."

I felt my throat tighten and I had to look away for a second. I think she was a little embarrassed about having said it, or maybe just unsure that it was all right, because when I glanced back at her she had her eyes fixed downwards again as she pushed her lasagne around her plate.

"D'you ever talk to anybody about things?" she asked me. She set her fork down resolutely and folded her hands together on the table top. I didn't understand why having her undivided attention like that made me feel so good, but it did. Even if I wasn't quite sure what she was asking.

"What things?" I scrunched up my forehead.

"What happened when you were little," she answered, "With your parents."

My heart rate picked up and I slowly shook my head. "No," I mumbled, "Not in a while."

"How come?" she asked.

I shrugged at her. "I don't really remember it."

"You don't remember _anything_?"

I frowned for a moment and then shook my head again. "Not really. Just bits and pieces," I told her, "I mean, I remember being in the car right before it happened. I was reading _Harry Potter_, the first one. And then I just remember waking up in hospital. I had to stay there for almost a month and they didn't tell me about my parents 'til the day before I went home."

Santana's lips parted in a silent gasp. "They waited _that _long to tell you?" she said.

I nodded. "I think they just wanted me to concentrate on getting better. But it was kinda dumb, I guess, 'cause I just kept asking my Grandma why I couldn't see 'em. It was confusing. And I wasn't even allowed to see Jess because she knew."

Santana gulped audibly and her lips turned down at the corners. "I'm… so sorry, Brittany," she almost whispered.

I shrugged. "I was okay. You know, after a while? But Jess had nightmares for years. She's never really talked about it but I know she saw stuff."

Santana gave me a gentle nod.

"I mean, this place has three bedrooms but we shared right up until I moved out 'cause she couldn't sleep by herself. Sometimes I'd wake up in the middle of the night and she'd be in bed with me." I shook my head. "I didn't know how to make her stop hurting."

I looked down at my plate and dropped my fork. I suddenly wasn't very hungry anymore. And then I felt Santana put her hand on my wrist and my chest tightened and my stomach clenched. It felt like something was trying to squeeze out of my body and I was involuntarily holding it in.

"It's not your job to protect her," she said.

I gasped out a laugh. It was a nervous, knee-jerk reaction and I shook my head at myself. "Then whose job is it?" I retorted.

Santana didn't say anything back and I couldn't stand the silence so I stood. Neither of us had finished eating but I picked up my plate, regardless, and then I walked over to the counter and dumped it in the sink. I felt Santana behind me just a moment later. She put her hand on my arm as I turned around but I didn't want her to look at my face, so I put my head on her shoulder – the way I'd wanted to the first night we met after she found me sitting on that bench.

It took her a few seconds to wrap her arms around me, but when she did I felt my eyes sting with tears. I didn't understand how I had gone over a month without crying before and now I had done it twice in as many days. It didn't make any sense.

I sniffled a little and after a few moments I felt Santana pushing me back softly with her hands on my shoulders. She gave me a tiny, strained smile and then she wiped a few tears off of my cheeks with the sleeve of her blazer.

It was the gentlest anybody had been with me in a long time.

When she was done she let her hands rest on my shoulders again and held my eyes. "I can't make you any promises," she told me quietly, "I wish I could, but I can't. All I can do is give you my word that I won't stop trying."

I don't think I had ever met anybody as fiery and quick-tempered as her who was also capable of such sweetness. It was the kind of thing that I wasn't exactly surprised by, but that I knew other people would be if they got to see it. I might not have known her that well but I knew that, and even though I was so sad it made my heart feel like it was about to burst with affection for her.

She kept my eyes, determined. She kept them until I leaned forwards and pushed my lips into hers. And then she stiffened, but she didn't draw back, and I just held her bottom lip between mine for a few seconds. It was so warm and soft and I couldn't imagine anything nicer to have my lips pressed up against.

When I pulled back, Santana's eyes were wide and her grip on my shoulders had tightened. My bottom lip quivered as I waited for her to say something – to tell me if that was okay, or if it _wasn't_.

My stomach bottomed out at the thought.

She moved her eyes around the room more than once before they settled back on my face. And she licked her lips before she spoke. "What was that for?" she whispered.

I gave her a soft shrug. "I just… like you," I mumbled. Santana nodded slowly and I watched her throat move as she gulped, but she didn't respond. My belly started to tremble. "I… I'm sorry," I stammered, "I-"

I didn't get to finish because she cut me off by fitting her lips over mine. My stomach flipped and my eyes drifted closed and Santana moved her hands from my shoulders to hold onto my face. A tiny, muted whimper escaped my mouth, "_Mm,_" and then Santana parted her lips and tilted my head so that she could guide me as she changed the kiss.

I held onto her arms as she pulled my bottom lip between hers and then when I felt her tongue lick into my mouth I moved them to clutch at her blazer. She gasped against my lips as I tugged her closer to me and we stumbled back a little until she was pressing me into the counter. Our tongues pushed together and it jolted right through the middle of me. I had to clench my thighs.

Her body against mine felt both deeply warm like burning coals and electric like a storm. I shivered as she slid one of her hands from my cheek to weave through my hair. And then we kept up our rhythm, our tongues brushing together and her lips sliding over mine like ripples in a pond. Again and again and again.

She kissed me completely breathless, until the backs of my knees tingled with the strain of supporting my weight. When she pulled back she held firmly onto my face as our chests heaved together. My eyes were still damp and a little sore and it took me a few seconds to open them, overwrought with dizziness.

Santana's lips shook and her thumbs stroked over my cheeks. It made me clutch tighter at her blazer. "I have to go to work," she whispered with hooded eyes.

I was slow to nod. "Okay," I said back.

She didn't move, and after a few seconds she tilted her face upwards, pressing her mouth back against mine. She took first my top lip between hers, and then the bottom before sliding her tongue over mine again. I whimpered as she pulled away.

"I really do have to go," she gasped. Her voice cracked a little and seemed to have moved into a higher octave.

"Okay," I repeated. Her grip on my face got firmer still, and I curled into her touch, moving my hands so that my arms could encircle her waist. I never wanted to move again.

Santana pressed her forehead briefly against mine and when she finally backed away from me she left nothing but a strange chill wrapped around a dwindling heat. I watched her as she grabbed her coat from the back of her chair and tugged it on, wishing she could just stay a little longer.

Most of the color seemed to have drained from her face and when she was done, she wouldn't meet my eyes. She just ran her fingers through her still-damp hair and looked down at her feet as I toyed with the hem of my shirt.

"Thank you for dinner," she said, her tone now almost professionally cordial.

"You're welcome," I replied, barely above a whisper.

She took a couple of steps backwards towards the door but my feet seemed to be rooted to the spot. "I'll see you soon," she told me, and then she turned on her heels and left.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

It had been a slow afternoon at _Chang's_. It still was. Tina and I were both struggling to find things to do in between fighting over serving what few customers we had. It was something I probably wouldn't have minded a few weeks ago, but boredom wasn't just boredom anymore. It was thinking and worrying and biting my nails until the tips of my fingers were worn down to ugly stubs.

I was wiping down the bar for the fourth time when Santana walked in. She paused in the doorway for a second and her shoulders sunk with relief when she spotted me. I hadn't been expecting her, but I didn't realize I had frozen until she had walked over and was close enough to speak.

"When d'you finish your shift?" she asked in lieu of a greeting.

I watched a couple of drops of water fall from the ends of her hair and onto the lapel of her coat before I answered. "I'm here 'til we close," I told her.

"Fuck," she muttered, "Can't you get somebody to cover for you?"

"Uh…" I shook my head distractedly, "I don't think so. Why?"

"I'll cover for you," Tina chimed in and came to lean against the bar beside me before Santana could answer.

"But you're already working," I mumbled.

Tina rolled her eyes at me. "I can manage by myself. If we get busy I'll call you," she said.

"Great," Santana said to Tina, "Thanks." And then she turned her attention swiftly back to me. "So, we can go?"

"Um… O-okay," I stammered. "Just… lemme get my stuff."

"I'll be in my car," Santana told me. She turned on her heels and left before I could ask her where her car was, so I just shrugged at Tina and headed out back towards my locker.

/

I found Santana's car pretty quickly out in the lot because she had parked in the spot right beside mine. It was late afternoon and the sun had settled into a smoldering orange behind the clouds, offset and a little distorted by the gray of the rain.

I opened the passenger side door and stooped down rather than climbing inside. "You want me to follow?" I said.

Santana glanced over at me as she turned the engine over and shook her head. "I can drop you back here after," she answered. I bobbed my head and then slipped into the passenger seat, setting my purse on the floor by my feet.

"Where're we going?" I asked. Santana had obviously been expecting the question because she was holding a thin, brown file folder on her lap which she then handed to me.

"Puckerman thinks that truck from the video is a Chevy C/K," she explained, "So I got him to make me a list of all the C/K owners in the city."

I nodded as I gazed down at the folder in my hands. Just like when she took me to look at those tapes in the first place, I had expected it to take longer for anything to come of this. It was a pleasant surprise. I opened it up to find three or four sheets of paper that had been stapled together at the corner. The first had a list of what looked like at least a hundred names on it and the ones behind it seemed to be in a similar mode of being.

"Go to 'U'," Santana ordered quietly, "One of the names kinda stuck out to me."

I did as she said and flicked through to the last page. Sure enough, there was a name that had been underlined twice in black ink. "Benjamin Ullman-Green," I mumbled. I looked over at Santana and frowned.

"The initials…?" she prompted.

I glanced back down at the piece of paper. "B-U-G," I whispered, my frown ironing itself out as realization dawned on me. My head whipped around and Santana's lips twitched upwards at the corners. "Bug?" I said.

"Got the fucker," she retorted as she reached across to take the folder back. She threw it unceremoniously onto the back seat. "The only thing is," she continued, "I checked him out and this guy's got nothing. No apartment. No family. His medical records just stopped about a year and a half ago. And he was on anti-anxiety meds before that, Xanax and Klonopin. There's no way he should've just _stopped _taking them. If it weren't for the truck and some storage unit he's got down in Riverside it'd be like he just dropped off the face of the Earth."

I nodded but was slow to respond. "That's… kinda weird," I mumbled.

"It's _very _fucking weird," Santana agreed.

"So, what are we gonna do?" I asked.

"We're gonna go check out the unit," she told me. "Puck's meeting us there in an hour, well…" she glanced down at her watch. "Forty-five minutes now."

"Right," I nodded again, "Okay."

"Is that all right?" she asked me as she put her hand tentatively on the stick-shift. "I mean, I just figured you'd wanna come but you don't have to."

"No." I shook my head. "I do want to." And it was true: I did. But that didn't mean I wasn't terrified of what we might find when we got there. The funny thing was, Santana didn't seem fazed at all. Just eager. I wondered how often she did things like this. And things that were _worse _than this.

"Are you sure?" she asked. Her lips pinched together in a pressed but sympathetic smile.

"Yes." I nodded resolutely.

"Okay," she huffed, finally putting the car in gear and easing us out of our parking spot.

It wasn't until we were driving in pressed silence that I remembered how much I wanted to talk to her. And how little I knew what to say. And how many times in the hours since last night that I'd had to force myself not to call her. For the duration of our journey I kept my eyes fixed firmly on her face – I couldn't stop myself - and Santana either didn't notice or just pretended not to.

/

After what seemed like hours but was probably only thirty minutes, we pulled into a wide-set but deserted alley. Santana slowed to a stop just inside its boundary so that we were flanked by what looked like garage doors and cut the engine. She looked as if she was going to get out without saying anything but I put my hand on her arm and stopped her before she could. She frowned at me, but didn't say anything. And not for the first time in my life, I wasn't sure how to articulate what was in my head.

All I knew was that she made me think of things I hadn't thought about in a long time. That I hadn't _wanted to_. About people I had been with in the past. Guys _and _girls. I always thought about them when I liked somebody new. I couldn't help it. They had all been so beautiful for a while, and then after that while they were still beautiful, but I stopped noticing as much. And when I looked at the new person I would always wonder how long it would take for me to stop appreciating them the way I should.

But every time I looked at Santana it felt as if a gust of wind had been blown through my chest cavity. It was so sweet it was almost painful. I didn't want to stop noticing that. I didn't think I _could_. And I wasn't sure if it was because Santana was different, or because I had changed, or maybe just because of the extreme circumstances under which we had met.

"We can talk about it later, Britt. Okay?" Santana said once it had become apparent that I wasn't going to speak. It was the first time she had shortened my name like that. I liked it. That was what my friends called me. And I liked that she seemed to know what I wanted to talk about without me having to say.

She waited until I had given her a quick but reluctant nod before she finally got out of the car. And after I'd done the same, I tugged my hood up over my head and followed her along the grainy path. I think she must have been able to hear me walking because she didn't look back to check.

There were dozens of the same garage doors in lines either side of us and then about halfway down, another alley that jutted off to the right which Santana took without warning. She seemed to know where she was going and I was glad because I didn't have a clue. The place was like a wet, rainy maze.

As we turned the corner I spotted Officer Puckerman crouched down with his knees in a puddle, and I briefly wondered if I still had to call him _Officer Puckerman _when he was out of uniform. He was doing something to one of the doors but I couldn't tell what until we were closer.

"Really? A car jack?" Santana said, "That's your genius plan?"

"Do _you _wanna pick the lock?" he grunted without looking at us. He stood and began pumping with his foot, forcing the door upwards, and as it creaked and bent out of shape and I looked around us nervously, afraid that somebody might hear.

Santana didn't seem concerned. And then suddenly I couldn't concentrate on anything other than the stomach-churning stench that billowed out of the three-foot gap between the ground and the bottom of the door. Santana took a couple of steps backwards, as if she'd been hit with an actual, tangible object, and covered her mouth and nose with the sleeve of her coat.

"Jesus!" Officer Puckerman muttered. He pinched his nose between his fingers and then gestured with his arm toward the gap he'd made. "After you," he said to Santana. She reluctantly took her hand away from her face and gaped at him, indignant.

"You expect me to climb under there?" she asked him.

He shrugged at her. "That's as far up as I can get it," he explained. Santana huffed out a breath and then pushed past him, dropping without hesitation to her hands and knees and edging her way under the door. "Bad day to wear a skirt. Huh, Lopez?" Officer Puckerman teased.

"Fuck off," she muttered.

He turned to me with a dopey smile once she'd disappeared. "You gonna be okay out here?" he asked me. I just sucked my lips into my mouth and nodded in response. I didn't want to follow them in there even a little bit.

"I can't see a fucking thing in here," Santana complained, her voice slightly muffled by the crumpled door.

"I've got a flashlight," Officer Puckerman told her as he dropped to the ground, the way she had before him, and crawled inside.

For the longest time after that, all I could hear was a lot of shuffling and muttering, but no actual words. The rain was starting to make me cold so I folded my arms over my chest and huddled beneath the ledge at the top of the storage unit as I kept a vigilant lookout. But minutes passed and nobody came.

"Oh, my God!" I heard Santana cry out after long moments of nothing. The sound was followed by what sounded like panicked scuffling, and then my heart leaped up into my throat as they both came barrelling out from beneath the door without warning.

"W-what happened?" I stammered, wide-eyed, but neither of them answered me. Santana was already on her feet with her cell phone in her hand but Officer Puckerman snatched it away from her before she could call anybody.

"What're you doing?" he yelled.

"We need to call it in," she told him as she made a grab for the phone, but he held it up out of reach.

"Are you out of your mind?" he retorted. "We don't even have a warrant."

"_Fuck _the warrant!" she argued, incredulous. "You did just see the same thing I saw, right? You saw what was in there?"

Officer Puckerman shook his head and stuffed Santana's cell phone into his jeans pocket. "What planet do you live on, Santana? It doesn't _matter _what's in there. _None _of it'll matter. They find out we went in there like this the guy will _walk_, guilty or not. Is that what you want?"

"Of course it's not!" She moved towards him again and reached for his pocket but he caught her wrists with his hands and held her at bay. "_Please, _Puck," she begged. "We've been waiting for this. We _need _it."

"Santana…" he sighed, "You're not thinking straight-"

"Because you're asking me to just sit on this!" Her voice cracked as she spoke. She wrenched her wrists out of his grip and then ran her fingers through her wet hair. I had noticed it was something she did when she was nervous.

"_No_. I'm saying we go get a warrant. We come back. We do this right," Officer Puckerman retorted.

"We can't do that. There's no probable cause…"

"Sure there is," he said.

"Yeah… based on evidence we're not supposed to have," Santana argued. "How the fuck do we get around that? Really, I'm all ears."

Officer Puckerman squinted down at her through the rain and shook his head again. "I don't know," he mumbled. "I've kinda been working under the assumption that _you _know what you're doing."

I wasn't sure what Santana's response was, or even if she responded at all. Suddenly my desperation to know what they were talking about had ebbed away to almost nothing because a man had appeared up ahead and stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of us.

His face was obscured by the rain and the peak of his red baseball cap, and his gait took on a slouched, jerky quality as he began backing away. I knew who he was. And I wasn't sure if the others had noticed him or not but it sounded like they were still arguing. I wanted to tell them, I wanted to _scream _but it was as if my vocal chords had been stripped bare like wires. So, instead of doing that I reflexively gave chase.

He turned on his heels and disappeared back around the bend as soon as he saw me sprinting towards him. The rain stung my face and my hood fell down as I ran and by the time I'd reached the main stretch from which he'd appeared he was gone, but I didn't know where. There was no way he could have made it back to the street that fast. There was a small alcove up ahead but when I got to it, it was empty.

I looked around aimlessly, confused, and took deep, lagging breaths. And then I gaped stupidly at the pebbled wall at the back of the opening until I heard something move behind me. When I turned, all I saw was a blur of red before something connected painfully with the side of my head and knocked me into the door of one of the storage units. Its handle dug into my rib, and then I clattered to the ground with a wet thud. The whole back side of me froze. I think I was lying in a puddle. And I wasn't sure if it was the blow to the head or the rain getting in my eyes that was making my vision blurry, but I blinked slowly up at the distorted figure who was now crouching beside me.

I had always wondered what sound my heart would make when it broke. When my Grandma died I forgot to listen but right now, this time, somehow I remembered. And it sounded like nothing.

"Please, give her back," I whispered.

I felt something touch my cheek, so softly. I think it was his hand. Drops of water ran over the brim of his hat and fell onto my face, and then I heard a man's distant voice. He sounded angry, although I couldn't make out the actual words, and the guy in the red cap left as abruptly as he came.

Two quick sets of footsteps seemed to get closer and closer, and then Santana skidded to a halt beside me and dropped to her knees. "Are you okay?" she gasped.

"I'll go after him!" Officer Puckerman called out as he carried on past us. I felt Santana brush a few wet strands of hair out of my face before her thumb grazed over a very specific spot on my temple. Her hand was warm, and it stung a lot less than I thought it would.

"You're bleeding," she said, gentler and much less urgent than before. I tried to blink her into focus. I wanted to see her face. "C'mon, we need to get you outta here," she told me.

One of her hands clutched at the front of my jacket and the other hooked around the back of my neck as she helped me sit up. My head throbbed and I felt a wave of nausea as she did so but I tried not to let it show. As we stood, Santana pulled my arm so that it hung over her shoulders the same way I'd done to her that night she came home drunk. I didn't really need her help with walking, but I didn't tell her that, and she even put my seat belt on for me once we'd staggered back to her car.

"You need a hospital," she huffed as she slumped down in the driver's seat.

My heart jolted and I shook my head. "No. I don't wanna go to the hospital."

Santana turned so that she was almost sideways in her seat and frowned at me. "Brittany, you could have concussion," she argued.

"I'm fine." I shook my head again. "It's just a bump."

She chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment instead of answering. I think she wanted to believe me. But when she opened her mouth to speak her phone rang out before she could say anything.

She must have picked Officer Puckerman's pocket.

She fished it out of her coat and then answered with a scowl. "Hello?" she said curtly. The conversation seemed to be pretty one-sided after that, because Santana didn't say much else. Just a lot of _okays_. It didn't last long and when she hung up she gazed down at the screen for a few seconds.

"You got your phone back," I mumbled.

Santana nodded slowly, distracted. "That guy got away," she told me.

"I think he was _Bug_," I said. Santana nodded again but didn't reply, and I cleared my throat. "What was in there?" I was almost reluctant to ask.

She hesitated a little before answering. "It was a man's body," she said flatly. "He was wrapped up in garbage bags."

My eyebrows flew up to my hairline and I had to swallow down my nausea a second time. "He was… dead?" I said.

Santana finally looked back up at me and bobbed her head up and down. "Puckerman's gonna call it in anonymously," she explained, "From a payphone."

"Then what?" I asked.

She shrugged at me and pulled her keys out of her coat pocket before starting up the car again. "I have no idea," she huffed.

/

I didn't realize Santana wasn't taking me home until we were easing to a stop just behind her building. She helped me out of the car again, even though I still didn't need it. "How come we're here?" I asked. Not that I minded.

"That place was really dirty. I need to change before I go to work," she told me. It was starting to get dark and I wondered how long it would be until she would have to leave. "And I wanna keep an eye on you for a little while," she added. I smiled at that, and then she put an arm around my waist as she guided me towards the door.

"I promise I'm okay," I told her.

"Humor me," she retorted.

We were quiet after that until we got to her apartment. It was warm inside, _really_ warm, and it seemed especially toasty when she turned on the lamp beside the couch. The room lit up, golden, and she sat me down gently. "I'll be right back," she told me, and then she left me there alone.

While she was gone I gazed absently at a fluted glass ashtray that was perched on the edge of the coffee table in front of me, partially filled with the remnants of a couple of cigarillos. I think I only noticed it in the first place because I was sure it hadn't been there when I was here before.

It explained the sweet smell of burned liquorice that lingered in the air.

Santana returned a minute or so later, having removed her coat and shoes, holding a packet of anti-septic wipes and a band aid. "Take off your jacket," she ordered softly as she sat down. Her knees pushed into mine and I did what she said without hesitation.

"'Cause it's wet?" I said.

"M-hm," she nodded and then brushed my damp hair out of my face before bringing one of the wipes to my temple. It stung but I managed to only wince a little. "Sorry," she murmured.

"It's okay."

She delicately wiped the dried blood away from my head until she deemed it acceptable, and then she tossed the dirty wipe onto the coffee table.

"Santana?" I hushed.

"Mm?"

"Do you think Bug killed that man?"

She sighed softly and shook her head before answering. "I don't know. It seems that way."

I let out a muted breath that shook my lips. I couldn't help it, but Santana didn't seem to notice. She fumbled a little when she unwrapped the band aid and then she placed it over what I assumed must have actually been a pretty small cut.

"Thanks," I said.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

I shook my head but as I breathed in my ribs twinged a little and reminded me that that wasn't true. "Uh… here," I said, placing my hand over my side. "But I don't think it's that bad."

"Can I see?" she asked me. I nodded and lifted one side of my shirt for her. Santana pinched her lips together. "It's just a graze," she mumbled, I think more to herself than to me, and then she moved her hand and I felt her thumb ghosting over it the same way she'd done to the cut on my head before. "Is it sore?"

I shook my head, but it was distracted - her hand on my skin was making it really hard to concentrate. I felt the muscles in my belly get tighter and I had to close my eyes because of it.

"Hey… you okay?" she murmured.

I nodded slowly. "You're making my heart beat really fast," I whispered.

She retracted her hand quickly after I'd said it. "Sorry," she stammered.

I shook my head again. "No, I like it," I said, opening my eyes back up. "And… I really liked it when we kissed. 'Cause before I never used to think enough and now I think too much but when we were kissing all I could think about was you."

Santana looked almost a shade paler than she had a moment ago. "Brittany…" she whispered, but she didn't finish her thought, so I leaned forwards. But I didn't kiss her. I didn't know if she wanted that. I just rested my forehead against hers, and after a moment I felt her hand move to the back of my neck and her fingers thread through my hair.

It made me brave enough to drop my shirt and hold onto her shoulders, and her muscles that had been so stiff not a second ago seemed to soften against my hands, as if the bones beneath her skin had warmed up and melted down.

When she pushed against the back of my head and pressed our lips together, my chest squeezed and I sank into her. I pushed my tongue into her mouth almost immediately, and my body rose as I swallowed the tiny muffled sound she made.

"Brittany." She gasped my name this time and pulled away, but not completely. I could still feel her breath, and her free hand went to my thigh and held tight. An echo of my heartbeat pulsed between my legs.

When she didn't say anything else, I pushed at her shoulders until she was partly reclined, half against the back of the couch and half against the arm, and then I planted my knees either side of her hips. Santana's eyes went wide, and I thought for a split second that maybe she didn't like me being on top of her like this, but then she grabbed two fistfuls of my shirt and pulled me closer. My stomach lurched with excitement. And I couldn't remember the last time anything had made me feel so good. My nerves were raw, open and live and my heart felt wrung out with want.

Santana pulled my bottom lip between hers and moved our mouths together urgently, and I reciprocated with just as much enthusiasm. It was fast and sloppy, and then after a while I needed to breathe so I painted her cheeks and her chin with wet kisses instead. My lips slipped easily across her skin. And when I got to her throat I bit her there without meaning to. Her hands moved to clutch at the backs of my shoulders as I soothed the same spot with my tongue.

"Sorry," I whispered, but she didn't say anything back, so I kept kissing. Softly at first, I would just peck her, and then I would suck her skin into my mouth until I felt her fingers dig into my back. I liked it when she did that.

I moved my hands between us so that I could try to take off her blouse, but after unfastening only a couple of buttons I gave up because the angle was too awkward. I bunched the damp material up under her breasts instead so that I could run my hands over her stomach, and her skin was so warm… more so than I had expected, but her neck was warmer, slick and hot with my breath.

My lips smacked against her skin as I drew back. Santana was panting, her hands still clutching at my back and her chest pressing into mine with each intake of breath. Her pupils had spread like ink spilled in water and I couldn't tell where they ended and where her irises began anymore.

"I like you so much," I said without thinking. My cheeks burned red afterwards, but Santana swallowed down a gulp instead of responding. I felt her hands suddenly at the waistband of my pants; I hadn't realized she'd moved them. She was fumbling with the button, trying to un-pop it and I closed my fingers reflexively around her wrists before she could.

I didn't want her to touch me, because I kind of liked the way my desire had momentarily fogged up my thoughts and my judgement. I didn't want that feeling to go away. So I moved again before she could ask me why we'd stopped.

I scooted back, off of her and then off of the couch so that I was kneeling on the floor. And then I put my hands on her thighs and pushed her legs apart.

Santana sat bolt upright. Her wet hair whipped forwards as she did so and clung to parts of her face and neck, and the way her chest heaved with effort made her look wild and unruly. She seemed like she wanted to say something, but when her lips parted nothing came out.

We both held still for long moments, and then she reached toward me and tucked a piece of my hair so gently behind my ear that it made my heart ache.

I smiled softly against the tightness in my throat. And then I slid my hands slowly upwards and the material of her skirt went with them. It was a little hard to move in places because it was so tight, but I pushed it up as far as it would go, until it was scrunched up around her hips. Santana laid back again when I hooked my fingers into the waistbands of her pantyhose and her underwear, and I watched her grip so hard at the couch that her knuckles turned white as I peeled them down her legs. I pulled them all the way off and dropped them on the floor.

"Is this okay?" I asked, my voice surprisingly raspy.

Santana nodded with her eyes squeezed shut, so I put my hands on her again, this time under the creases at the backs of her knees. I lifted them, and after a little coaxing she went with it and let me drape her legs over my shoulders. I scratched my fingers up and down her thighs a few times, I liked how it made her twitch, and then I pushed my face forwards and kissed her. Right in the middle.

Santana's fingers moved to the back of my head and fisted my hair, and I had to place my hands over her hips to stop her from squirming. And then I kissed her again, firmer this time. My lips opened further and as I pressed them down her wetness coated them like hot candle wax. My cheeks bloomed with heat. I could feel it. And I could hear how heavy her breathing was, almost like gasping, and it made something coil hot inside my belly.

I kissed over her a few more times before I moved my lips upwards – they slipped so easily. I closed them around that button at the top, and then I sucked. Hard. Santana's whole body jerked and she let out a high-pitched, muffled grunt, "_Mmph."_ The sound jolted through me like a current.

I kept doing that – sucking – for a long while, until her moans and grunts had grown frequent and breathless. And then I pressed my tongue to her, flat, and I moved it downwards until I was close enough to push it inside. When I did, Santana whimpered, and inside of her clenched and squeezed and her thighs felt like they were going to crush my cheeks. I had only moved in and out of her a couple of times when her body stiffened. Her heels dug into my back and her fist tightened painfully in my hair, and then she groaned and shook until she went limp. The gasp she let out was hot and wet and loud. And then everything was quiet and the only sounds were Santana's breathing and the ticking of a clock that seemed really far away, just like everything else in the room.

At some point her skirt had managed to fall down a little and I could barely breathe anymore, but I waited until Santana's hand had slowly loosened from my hair before I drew back. It was like being hit in the face with cool water.

Santana had her hands pressed, heels-down, into her eyes now. And her breaths were still heavy. Watching her made my heart feel fit to burst.

I leaned forwards again and I rested my cheek against her bare, clammy stomach, just below her breasts, and then I squeezed my arms between her back and the couch so that I was holding her around the middle. My body still thrummed, stoked and electric, but at the same time I was content to just lay with her. It was relaxing. And I knew as her breathing slowed that I could probably fall asleep if we stayed that way.

After a few moments I felt her fingers running softly through my hair, and then she pushed at my shoulders so I moved back again, and she sat up with me and draped her arms around my neck.

"You don't waste any time, huh?" she muttered as she rested our foreheads together, but she kissed me before I could answer. It was slow, lazy, and she began trailing her hands down my body as she did it. When her fingers began fumbling with the button on my pants I grabbed her hands to stop her again.

"It's okay," I whispered against her lips. She pulled back swiftly and frowned at me, but I don't think she knew how to argue. "I promise, it's fine," I assured her. I pecked her again on the lips and then I started brushing her hair out of her face. "Your hair's all messy," I mumbled.

Santana's shoulders seemed to relax just a little, and she gave me a tiny, bashful smile. Her lips were still slightly swollen and red, but she also seemed frazzled and I couldn't decide if she looked sexy or adorable.

"I need to get ready for work," she sighed.

"Okay. You want me to go?"

She was quick to shake her head. "No, you should stay here," she said, and then she hesitated a little. "I mean, unless Sam's expecting you?"

I shrugged. "He said he was heading out after he dropped me at work."

"Okay," she nodded, "So, you'll stay here? It's just I don't have time to run you back to your car now."

"Sure." I shrugged again. I wasn't completely sure what she meant. Did she want me to stay there while she was at work?

"All right," she grunted as she stood. It made me cold, the warmth of her body suddenly being further away. I was still kneeling in front of the couch and she was shaky as she stepped past me.

"Wait," I said, without really knowing why. I heard her stop moving, and then when I didn't say anything else she sat tentatively back down, beside me this time rather than in front.

"What is it?" she said. Her forehead creased up.

"That guy killed someone," I mumbled.

It took her a few seconds to respond. "…Probably," she hesitantly agreed.

I nodded slowly. "And he has Jess."

Santana's lips pinched together, concern steeped below the surface. She reached for my hand and my eyes drifted closed for a second as she took it. "You know, it's funny," she said. They weren't the words I was expecting. "When you're a detective you spend your entire life talking to people, when all the people you _really_ need to talk to are dead. It's kinda stupid when you think about it."

I bobbed my head up and down, but I wasn't really sure what she was getting at.

"This was always a possibility. You must've known that." She was gentle as she said it, but I still frowned.

"I can't think like that," I said.

"Well, you have to," she shrugged and pulled my hand into her lap. Her thumb rubbed circles over the back of it. "I'm not gonna sugar-coat things for you, Britt. I respect you too much. And… I know you probably feel really alone right now, I get that, but being alone doesn't make you helpless, okay? Whatever happens, you'll find your way. You _will_. Even if it seems for the longest time like you won't. I can at least promise you _that_."

My throat tightened and I chewed my bottom lip, hard, to distract myself. "I don't know what I'll do if I lose her," I stammered. I felt her fingers squeeze mine tighter.

"We'll cross that bridge if and when we come to it," she said. "But there's still a good chance she's alive."

Santana was a complete mess of contradictions. I think I only realized it in that moment. And if I thought about it, I was grateful that that registered more than the actual words. The way she spoke about the situation made it far too real.

"How are you always so sure about everything you say?" I mumbled.

She shrugged at me. "It's pretty easy to convince yourself you're right. The _easiest _thing, probably."

I nodded again slowly, despondent. I wanted desperately to feel the way I had a moment ago, when Santana and I had been kissing and other things. Sometimes feelings disappeared even quicker than they came and I didn't understand how.

"I really need to get ready for work," Santana echoed her earlier sentiment.

I bobbed my head again. "Okay," I said.

She got up and left quickly, before I could call her back like I had before. I think she went into her bedroom, and I stood slowly so that I could sit back on the couch. I went back to gazing at the ashtray for a while once I had, and then I remembered Santana's discarded pantyhose and underwear in a pool by my feet, so I grabbed them and balled them up between my hands.

Santana returned a little while later, maybe ten or fifteen minutes, and for some reason I stood to attention when she did. Her hair was neat and dry now – I had heard her using a blow-dryer in her room – and as she tugged her coat on I noticed that she'd changed into pants.

"I'm gonna get Puck to come by and check on you in a few hours," she told me, "You shouldn't sleep for a little while."

I nodded and then frowned. "So… you want me to stay here?" I said, a little disbelieving.

"Yeah," she nodded. "If you can find any food in the kitchen, help yourself. And… uh, you can borrow some pajamas when you go to bed. You know where they are, right?" She rooted through her purse as she spoke and didn't look up at me.

"Uh-huh," I answered.

"Okay. The remote's on the end table if you wanna watch TV," she continued and then she headed toward the front door. "I'll be back tomorrow morning." She had her hand on the doorknob, halfway turned, before she paused abruptly. She let go of it like it had burned her and I frowned as she turned her head and looked at my face for the first time since she came back into the room.

She didn't say anything, but she took a few awkward steps towards me, slow at first, and then much quicker. And when she was close enough she leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. I tucked my chin bashfully into my neck and Santana's cheeks bloomed red like apples. Even against the darkness of her complexion I could see it and it made my heart skitter beneath my ribcage. When I smiled, she smiled. And then she made swiftly for the door again.

She left wordlessly. And I think in that moment, it was the right thing.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Officer Puckerman showed up a couple of hours later, like Santana had told me he would. I'd spent the time between watching television, but it grew tiring after the fifteenth time I'd had to remind myself to keep it in focus. I'd been half-poised and waiting for more minutes than I could count but the buzzer still startled me out of my seat when it sounded. I got up and pressed the button so that he could get into the building and then I left the apartment door open while I sat back on the couch to wait for him. I muted the TV, too, although I'm not sure why, and it can't have been more than a minute-or-so later that he strolled in.

"Hey," he said, completely nonchalant, before closing the door after himself.

"Hi," I said back.

"You okay?" He shoved his hands into his pockets and approached slowly, opting to sit on the couch opposite mine rather than beside me.

"Yeah." I nodded. "I think so."

"Santana patch you up?" He gestured toward the band aid on my temple and I briefly touched my hand to it.

"Uh-huh," I responded.

Officer Puckerman bobbed his head up and down. "Santana's good with stuff like that," he told me, "Her Dad's a doctor."

I frowned, although it was more to myself than at him. "She said she doesn't see him much," I said.

"She doesn't," he retorted, "But he's still a doctor." He took off his jacket and left it in a crumpled pile beside him and then he relaxed back in his seat. It somehow made me feel a little more at ease. "You hungry?" he asked.

I shrugged. "A little. Why?"

"'Cause Santana never has any food here," he replied. "You wanna order pizza?"

I nodded in response. Pizza actually sounded really good. "Sure," I said.

"Good girl," he mumbled under his breath as he squeezed his cell phone out of his jeans pocket. I shoved my hands between my knees and stared down at my feet while he called the pizza place and asked for a large pepperoni stuffed crust for us to share. When he was done, he kicked off his shoes and then leaned back with his hands linked behind his head that shone slightly with damp. "So…" he said with a smirk, "How long've you and Santana been doing the dirty?"

A shock of panic jolted through me, like a tiny lightning storm in my heart. "What?" I stammered.

"Well, there's a pair of panties on the coffee table," he explained, still smirking, "I just assumed. But if I'm being presumptuous, I apologize."

My cheeks burned like hot irons and I closed my eyes for a moment at my own stupidity. _Why did I put them there?_ "I don't think Santana would like us talking about this," I mumbled. It was the only response I could think of, but it was true. Officer Puckerman knowing whatever it was he knew didn't really affect me. But Santana was his friend. He shouldn't have known private things about her unless she wanted him to.

"Hey," he held his hands up in mock defence. "I'm just saying I'm glad, is all. That girl _needed_ to get laid."

I fidgeted uncomfortably in my seat and heard the leather of the couch stretch under my weight. "Will she be mad about you knowing?" I murmured.

He shrugged at me. "Probably. She gets mad about most things."

I guess I kind of knew that already. "Okay," I said.

"One time in high school she broke my nose just 'cause I spilled soda in one of her fancy-ass purses," he told me.

I smiled just to be polite. "She did?" I prompted, relieved about the almost-change-of-subject.

"Uh-huh." He nodded at me and then he kept looking at my face for a few seconds before rolling his eyes. He smiled as he grabbed for the remote that sat between us on the coffee table, and then he pointed it at the TV. "You mind if I change the channel?" he asked.

I shrugged because I don't think I had ever felt more indifferent about anything in my life.

/

Officer Puckerman only stayed until we'd finished eating our pizza – not that I would have minded if it had been longer. After the initial awkwardness I actually kind of enjoyed his company. Like most people, he was easy to be around once I'd gotten him talking about himself.

And I liked to listen instead of talk because I didn't like the way entire sentences could sometimes just tumble out of my mouth, completely unrecognizable as the thoughts they'd been in my head. Words seemed far too important now to let myself mess them up. And listening to Officer Puckerman speak tirelessly about nothing was like a vacation.

After he was gone, the silence felt like a gust of cold in my chest.

I got ready to go to sleep, slipping into a pair of Santana's pajamas like she'd told me too. And I had to forgo cleaning my teeth because there was no spare toothbrush. I always hated doing that.

When I climbed into Santana's bed I buried myself beneath the covers because they smelled like her. I turned my face into the pillow and breathed in. I drowned myself in it. And where I was laying, I made my own warm patch right beside the groove Santana's body had left in the mattress, where it depressed slightly and tilted to the side.

I liked the thought of my warm patch being beside her groove.

It took me a long time to fall asleep. And as I did, I hoped I wouldn't wake up before morning.

/

I had only been vaguely aware of something touching my arm for a few seconds. It was warm and when it started moving was when I brought my fists to my eyes and rubbed at them as I yawned. When I cracked them open I had to blink away the translucent film that had covered them as I slept, and how vividly Santana came into focus above me shocked me into remaining silent for a second.

I thought fleetingly of my sister, and how the way I saw Santana in that moment was the opposite of how I saw Jessica now. Completely backwards, in fact. Every day the image of her face that lived on the inside of my eyelids got a little less detailed. A little less real. But I couldn't bring myself to study photographs of her, the way I'd done with my Grandma and my parents after they'd died in my desperation not to forget. It would have been like admitting something that wasn't true.

Not yet.

Santana took her hand away from my bicep and let it drop into her lap as I sat up. She remained beside me on her knees, dressed haphazardly in sweats and with her hair tied in a messy pile on top of her head. The thought of her sneaking around, trying not to wake me, filled my heart with a pleasant warmth. "Morning," she mumbled, "How're you feeling?"

"I'm okay," I replied, my voice thick with sleep.

"Did Puckerman come by?"

"Uh-huh," I confirmed with a nod. "We had pizza."

I yawned again and Santana bobbed her head up and down. "That's good," she said under her breath. "He wasn't a jerk, was he? He kinda has a weird sense of humor but he doesn't mean anything by it."

I shrugged. "No. He was nice. I liked it when he was here."

She cocked an eyebrow at me. "You did?"

I nodded. "I don't really like being on my own." It felt like far more of an admission that it really was. Santana frowned.

"_Never_?"

I hesitated for a moment because I wasn't sure what was so surprising about that. "Not really," I replied.

It took her a few seconds to say anything back, so I watched her frown iron itself out. "I don't think I believe you," she stated, a slight hint of mockery in her tone. "Have you ever got on a bus and sat beside a stranger if the two seats behind him were free?"

I scrunched up my forehead. "Well… no, I guess not. But that's different."

"No, it isn't," she said. "Being alone will always be the better option at some point. It's just human nature. We're all fucking terrified of each other."

I sighed and then shook my head. "…Okay," I relented, not that I actually believed her either. I'd realized that night I took care of her and fell asleep on her chest that there was a difference between being alone and being lonely. Being alone, you could get used to. The pain of it was dulled by the promise of change, but loneliness… there was just no growing accustomed to that. Not for anybody.

Not even her.

And it certainly wasn't something to aspire to. "But I don't think I agree with you," I added.

Santana bit back a smirk. "Fair enough… but I can assure you, after years of trying to prove myself wrong I've discovered that there's no company finer than my own. Spending time with other people seems like a waste of time at this point."

I couldn't help snorting a laugh. But I was glad I did because it made Santana stop trying to fight her smile. "I can't even tell if you're being serious anymore," I told her.

She shrugged. "Well, have fun figuring it out."

I bit my lip and rubbed at my eyes again. "It's too early for this," I muttered.

"Yeah… I'm kinda getting off track," Santana sighed with a soft shake of her head. "I actually need to talk to you about something."

"Okay." I nodded so she would continue, but her expression had shifted faster than I thought possible and made me almost hope that she wouldn't.

"Okay," she echoed, "So… you know that body we found in the storage facility?"

I nodded slowly. "The man that Bug killed?"

Santana huffed out a breath. "Yeah," she nodded, "Him… Well, he _was _Bug."

My brow furrowed because I didn't get it. I had to ask her what she meant.

"The dead guy was Bug," she clarified. "Well… not exactly. He was Benjamin Ullman-Green. Ya'know, the guy whose unit it was? He was pretty decomposed. They had to use his dental records to identify him. I think this _Bug _guy, whoever he is, killed him and took his truck. That's why Green went off the radar… he's been dead all this time. The only activity in his bank account for the past year and a half has been for the rental on the storage unit. That's how me and Puck found it in the first place. It explains everything."

I shook my head because it didn't seem that way to me. "I… I don't understand," I stuttered.

"Bug stole the dead guy's identity," Santana said. "He found someone he knew nobody would miss, killed him, and now he's driving around in _his _truck and working out of _his _storage facility and maybe even using his name. Basically… it means he's pretty much untraceable."

I felt the knot in my stomach hitch just a little tighter. "Fuck," I mumbled.

"_Fuck_, indeed," Santana agreed with a roll of her eyes.

"Do the police know about it?" I asked her, "I mean, you said Officer Puckerman called them from a payphone yesterday, right? And the dental records thing. Did the cops do that?"

She pinched her lips together and then scooted even closer to me, so that her knees pushed into my thigh and there was no space between us at all. She pulled my hand into her lap and when I felt her thumb rubbing circles into my skin I had to close my eyes for a second. "Yeah, they know," she said softly, "But that's not everything." I nodded so that she would continue and Santana cleared her throat before she did. "CSI combed through the place top-to-bottom when they got there. Obviously they found things that Puckerman and I missed. There were pictures and journals, all kinds of stuff."

I nodded, feeling myself grow impatient for something I wasn't sure of. "Okay," I said.

"He's the guy I've been looking for, Brittany," she told me.

I frowned. "What d'you mean?"

Santana gave a flustered sigh. "There were pictures of Kitty Wilde in there," she said, "Cassandra July, too. And… your sister and a couple others. We don't know who they are yet but we're gonna try to find them."

Her words felt poisonous. I absorbed them and felt my insides shrivel up. "I don't... How is that possible?" I breathed.

"I don't know," she shook her head, "I should've listened to you… that night in my car. You were right, I'm so sorry."

I shook my head like she had done. "He's… a serial killer," I said dumbly.

I felt Santana squeeze my fingers a little tighter. "Your sister still doesn't fit the pattern," she told me, "The others were killed in their homes. But he was _careful _with Jessica. He wants something from her."

I shook my head uselessly again. My heart pounded against my ribcage and panic rose inside me like bile. "No... he's a killer," I repeated, "He could be doing anything to her… _right now_. He could be-" I stopped short and when I made eye contact with Santana again it made me want to cry. Without thinking I snatched my hand away from hers and then I clutched at the front of her sweatshirt. "You have to find her," I said, "You _have_ to."

Santana's expression softened further as she wound her fingers around my wrists and peeled my hands off of her. "I'm trying," she told me. It was gentle and it was honest, but it wasn't enough. I choked on a sob.

"But you _have _to," I said, my voice an octave higher than it was a second ago, "I need her. Please. We can try something else."

Santana bit her lip for a second and then shook her head again as she placed my hands back in my lap. "It's not fair for you to say these things to me, Britt," she whispered.

I closed my eyes and felt a warm tear run down my face. Another chased it, but that was all that got out. I didn't understand what it was about Santana that drew things from me so easily, even when I wanted them to stay hidden. I hadn't cried in months but in front of her I'd done it three times. I had vowed not to speak unless it was necessary but she pulled words like ribbons from the back of my throat. Flimsy and indefinite.

"I'm sorry," I breathed. When I opened my eyes again, Santana gave me a pressed but sympathetic smile. My heart began to slow just a little.

"There's a silver lining here," she assured me.

"There is?" I asked, skeptical.

"Yeah," she replied, "The other cops believe you, now. _And _me. They don't really have a choice."

I nodded reluctantly. "…Okay," I agreed. She _was _right. Having more people believe us could only be a good thing. "Will it still be you helping me?"

Santana bobbed her head. "Yeah, I'm kinda assigned to your case by default 'cause I was already looking for this guy. But your sister's still just a missing person right now. That's Hummel's department. And Schuester's gonna wanna talk to you later. I told him I'd come see you so that he wouldn't send any cops to your house… so, I can take you down to the station later if you want?"

I lifted my shoulders up and down. "Okay," I answered.

Santana ducked her head a little closer to mine. "This is a good thing, Britt," she said quietly.

I nodded at her again. "Yeah… I know." I tried to smile and Santana's lips quirked up at the corners, too. "Does this mean they're gonna let that guy go? Cassandra's boyfriend?"

Her shoulders slumped a little and she shook her head. "Not yet," she answered, "There's nothing to suggest he wasn't still an accomplice at this point, but I'm hoping for a retrial once we've got more evidence. He's always had his appeals overturned in the past but I don't think that'll happen this time."

I looked down at my hands in my lap and started fiddling with my fingers. "When do I have to go to the police station?" I asked.

"After I've taken a nap," Santana replied. I smiled a little at that. "You can go back to sleep, too, if you want?"

I nodded my head. "Okay," I said.

When I glanced back at Santana she was studying my face. But after a few drawn-out seconds she looked away from me and I felt the bed shift beneath us as she began to move. She slipped under the covers and laid down on her side and after a beat I followed suit. "Just, try to relax for a little while, okay?" she said as I pressed my cheek to the pillow.

"Okay," I repeated. I moved my head forwards a little so that my face was closer to hers and Santana's eyes got ever-so-slightly wider. I made it so that we were sharing a pillow, and then I moved my hand so that it was on her neck. Santana shook her head almost imperceptibly, but she didn't say anything so I closed the space between us and pressed my lips gently to hers. I made sure I was quick and as I drew back I felt Santana's hand on my chest, just below my throat, making sure I didn't come back for another.

"Brittany… what happened last night can't happen again," she told me softly.

My heart jolted and I frowned, but I didn't question it. I had no right to. "_Oh_…" was all I said.

"It's just not a good idea," she added, "Not now this is official. I don't think it'd go down too well and I can't risk being kicked off the case."

I swallowed thickly and felt my cheek ruffle against the pillow as I nodded again. "Okay," I whispered, "But… I would never tell anybody. Just so you know."

Santana pinched her lips together in a strained, almost pained, smile. And then I felt her hand moving from my chest, up over my throat before stopping at my face. She pressed her palm into my cheek a little firmer than I think she meant to and rubbed her thumb over my skin. "I know you wouldn't," she whispered back, and then she huffed out a sigh. "C'mon, we should get some sleep."

I wasn't tired anymore. I had slept all night but I agreed anyway. "Okay," I said. I watched her close her eyes but I didn't close mine, and I wondered if she could feel me looking at her. If that was the case, she didn't seem to mind. After some minutes, her breathing slowed and deepened and even though her expression hadn't changed I knew she sleeping.

I stayed where I was and she never took her hand back.

/

"Did anybody tell that man's family, yet?" I asked. "Benjamin, I mean?" I didn't feel right, calling him _Green_, like Santana had been. It seemed too cold.

She looked a little thrown by the question when I first looked over at her. I had been silent for the first ten minutes of our journey, content to watch the windshield wipers swish back and forth as they kept our view of the waterlogged street from being obstructed. The thought had struck me out of nowhere.

"Uh… no," she answered, "He didn't have any family."

"_None_?" I frowned.

Santana shrugged. "It happens, Brittany."

"But… what'll happen to him?"

She shifted awkwardly in her seat before answering. "There'll be an ad in the paper and if nobody claims him within thirty days he'll be given an Indigent Burial," she said. "There was a little money left in his bank account. Should cover most of the costs. Maybe not the headstone… they're kinda pricey. But everything else."

My chest squeezed unpleasantly. "So, it'll just be a hole in the ground? That's it?"

"Pretty much," she replied, "I mean, he'll have a stake with a number on it, but no name or anything."

"That's… awful," I said dumbly. I actually felt a little nauseous at the thought.

"Try not to think about it," Santana told me, "It's not your problem, okay?"

I lifted my shoulders up and down in a shrug. "It should be _somebody's _problem," I mumbled.

"Well, _you _have more important things to focus on right now," she said.

I bobbed my head up and down, even though I wasn't sure I agreed with her. Talking with Sergeant Schuester may have been more _immediate_, but that didn't make it more or less important than anything else.

"I need to call Sam," I told her. I hadn't actually meant to express the thought out loud. Her silence was pulling words from me again. "I need to tell him what's going on."

"You can do that later," Santana was quick to assure me. "Stop _finding_ things to worry about." She glanced away from the road to shoot me a quick but playful smile. She was trying to lighten the mood.

"I don't know how you can act so normal," I murmured. I knew I'd said the wrong words the moment they left my lips. _Brave_. How could she be so _brave_?That was what I had meant to ask.

"Because I see stuff like this every day," she replied. "It _is _normal for me."

Something about the way she said it made me even sadder than the thought of Benjamin Ullman-Green's lonely grave. "Do you ever wanna quit?" I asked.

She hesitated for a moment before shaking her head. "Not yet… I'm still waiting for the pay-off," she retorted.

I frowned, but gazing at the side of her face told me nothing. Her expression was unreadable from that angle. "What d'you mean?"

Santana puffed out her cheeks for a moment and then shook her head as she blew out the trapped air. It made her look cute, like a hamster. "I dunno. I always thought doing a job like this would make me tough, ya'know? That's how it's _supposed _to work. But sometimes I just feel like… _jello_."

She seemed so indignant at the prospect that I wasn't even tempted to smile. And the fact that I wasn't completely sure I understood seemed irrelevant, so I nodded. "I like jello," I mumbled.

Santana breathed out a joyless laugh and shook her head again. "Well, you know when people like jello, right?"

Her question made me pause for a second. "…No," I said.

"When they've got a scratchy throat, that's when," she answered.

When she said it, I understood… at least, I thought I did. "That's not the only time," I whispered, but Santana didn't say anything back.

We pulled into the parking lot of the police station around twenty minutes later, having spent the rest of the drive over in silence. It was early evening now and even through the water-spattered windshield I could see that the sun was beginning to set outside the car. Santana had slept longer than she'd intended earlier and woken up frazzled and grumpy. She'd made me rush to get ready.

But now she just unbuckled her seat belt and sat there, so I did the same, and when we made eye contact I felt it again. That quick-warm breeze-through-my chest feeling. Her eyes glazed over, _so _dark, and the sound of rain pounding against the roof of the car ebbed away to nothing. I knew the silence wasn't real but even so, it stole my breath for a second.

In that moment, I wouldn't have been able to tell you my own name.

"You ready?" Santana said softly. She spoke the way you would to somebody you were trying to wake up.

It took me a second, but I managed to nod. "I think so," I answered.


	12. Chapter 11

**a/n: Just another big thanks to everyone who reads and reviews. I always love hearing what you think :) hope you like the new chapter! **

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

"Wait." Santana put her hand on my arm and stopped me just as we got to the top of the stone steps in front of the police station. There were a couple of uniformed officers milling around, talking amongst themselves. One of them looked at us and I watched the rain pour over the peak of his hat for a couple of seconds before Santana pulled me aside and tucked us discreetly into a corner.

"Sorry," she mumbled, "But I need to tell you this… I mean, they're gonna tell you anyway and you shouldn't hear it like that." She wasn't looking at my face as she spoke and it made my heart beat faster.

"Okay…" I prompted.

Santana shivered a little. For some reason she'd left her coat in her car and the rain today was the kind where every drop felt like a splash of cold to your bones. I stepped closer to shield her as best I could.

"You know how I said we found pictures and stuff in that unit?"

I nodded. "Uh-huh."

She finally looked up at me, her forehead creased with worry. She peered over my shoulder, then at my face and then back over my shoulder again. She did that a few times and I think it was because of the policemen behind me. I was curious to know if they were watching us, but not enough to glance back and check. "Some of them were of you," Santana eventually continued, "A _lot, _actually."

I frowned for a second, and then I opened my mouth to speak but all that came out was a hollow breath. In all honesty, I was far too concerned about my sister to know what to say or think about that right now. "O… Okay," I stammered. "That's okay."

Santana pursed her lips for a moment. "I just want you to know… I would never let anything happen to you, all right?"

She was so earnest as she said it. I had to gulp down the sudden tightness in my throat. "Yeah… I know that," I replied, nodding my head.

"I mean it," she said, holding my eyes. I didn't say anything back; I just let her look until she'd decided that she didn't need to anymore. Santana huffed out a breath. "Also, as far as they know this is the first time we've spoken," she mumbled, scuffing her foot awkwardly against the ground, "Just tell them everything you've told me, okay?"

I nodded, despite the fact that I wasn't sure exactly what she meant by _everything_. But Santana turned and immediately walked away, so I followed her inside the building. A blast of warmth hit us as we crossed the threshold. She told me to sit down and then she went through a door behind the front desk where another officer sat talking on the phone. I took off my jacket and hugged it against my chest, unsettled as always by the commotion. But nobody took any notice of me.

When Santana returned a few minutes later, she was flanked by Sergeant Schuester and Detective Hudson. I didn't notice them until they were standing right in front of where I was sitting. It was Santana who addressed me.

"Miss Pierce? I'm sorry for keeping you waiting," she said. I didn't like her calling me that but I nodded and gave her a small smile anyway, ignoring the two men. It wasn't anything personal; it was just that whenever Santana was around I may as well have been wearing blinkers. "You can come through now." She half turned away from me as she said it.

"Okay," I replied, my voice smaller than it had been before.

I got up and followed the three of them into the same interview room I had been in countless times before. I knew it wasn't the only one. Maybe they just always took me in there because it was the nicest. Santana sat next to me, even though Hudson had taken his usual spot by the door and left the seat beside Schuester vacant. I was more grateful than I could ever have expressed for that.

"I won't keep you long," Schuester told me softly, "I just need to ask you a few questions."

"Yeah, I think she knows the drill," Santana snapped back at him, "Or have you forgotten she's already been through this with you _several _times?"

Sergeant Schuester seemed to shrink a little in his seat. "Duly noted, Detective," he muttered without making eye contact with her. He shook his head after and then turned his attention back to me. "Okay, Brittany… Is it _all right_ if I call you Brittany?" he asked before he slapped the file in his hands down on the desk, flipping absently through the pages for a few seconds before going back to the first one. I nodded and he continued. "I have your notes here. I think you already told me most of what I need to know the first time we spoke," he said, "But I'm definitely gonna need some names from you. Anybody you think might be useful for us to talk to. Contact information, too, if possible, although that's not vital. It just helps speed the process up a little if we don't have to go searching."

"You know, listening to her from the start probably would've sped the process up, too," Santana added.

Sergeant Schuester's jaw tightened and I watched his knuckles turn white as he clenched just one of his fists. "You know, you're welcome to sit this one out, Detective. Isn't it your day off?"

"Yes, but I'd rather be here when I'm not supposed to than leave you to fuck up this case even worse than you already have," she retorted. "So, I think I'll stay put if it's all the same to you, _Sergeant_."

I watched Schuester bite back hard on whatever he was going to say in response. He instead focused his attention on the file in front of him again and I wondered briefly how Santana got away with speaking to him that way. I didn't know much about law enforcement but the fact that he outranked her was patently obvious, even to me.

"You and your sister have a roommate, is that right? Uh… Samuel Evans?" Schuester spoke without looking up.

"Uh-huh." I nodded.

"Okay," he grunted, pulling a pen from his breast pocket and jabbing the end against the table-top to make the tip come out. He seemed to be in something of a hurry. In fact, he looked as if he'd been in a hurry for a while - all sloppy and exhausted like you get when you're rushing. His cheeks were flushed and his tie hung slack around his neck where'd he'd loosened the top two buttons on his shirt. He even had his sleeves bunched up to just in front of his elbows.

"We're gonna need to talk to him, too," he continued, "Would you both be free tomorrow? We can visit you at home. Maybe take another look around your house?"

"It'd be a real time-saver if we can do both in the same afternoon," Hudson piped up from the door. His voice surprised me a little because I wasn't used to hearing it.

"Sure. That's fine," I told them. I didn't actually know if it _was _fine. Sam was supposed to work, but I was sure they would let him have the day off once they knew what it was for.

"Great," Schuester mumbled as he jotted something down inside the folder. When he was done, he looked back up at me. "I'm not sure how much my colleague here told you on the drive over. Are you aware that we discovered a storage facility yesterday evening in-"

"Yeah, I know about that," I cut him off before he could finish. I didn't want to be reminded of what was inside again.

"Right," he stammered, shaking his head. "Uh, so… you know about the photographs?"

I nodded. "The ones of me and my sister?" I wasn't sure whether or not it was safe to mention Kitty and Cassandra, too. Was it okay that I knew about them? Suddenly I felt Santana's hand squeezing at my knee beneath the table.

I think that meant I had said the right thing.

"Yes," Schuester nodded, "But I want you to know that your safety is our primary concern right now. Along with finding your sister, of course."

I frowned. "My safety?"

Schuester nodded again. "I'm sorry, but we have to assume you're a target. There _are_ detectives reading through this guy's journals but we found hundreds of 'em. It could be a while before we know exactly what he wants. What his plans are. So, from tomorrow we're gonna have two police officers parked outside your house at all times. If, at any point, you don't feel safe you just go talk to them, okay? They're there to help you."

I felt Santana's hand squeeze at my leg one last time before she took it away. It made me cold. "No. I don't want that," I stated. Schuester frowned at me like I knew he would, but I didn't need to be babysat. I _needed_ every police officer they had to be out looking for Jess.

"Br- _Miss Pierce_," Santana stuttered. I felt her eyes on the side of my face but I didn't look at her. "We're offering you protection. _Take it_." She sounded exasperated. _Mad_, even. I didn't like it at all.

"She's right, Brittany," Schuester agreed, "This guy knows where you live. You're not safe there alone."

"I'm not alone. I have Sam," I argued.

"So, you're willing to risk your roommate getting hurt, trying to protect you?" Hudson spoke from in front of the door again and then folded his arms tightly over his chest.

I felt my heart prickle. And when I opened my mouth, it took a few seconds for anything to come out. "N-no," I stammered. "Of course not."

Schuester leaned forwards a little, his eyes imploring. "Then let us help you," he said. I glanced briefly across at Santana who wore a similar expression on her face. She even gave me the tiniest of nods, like she thought it might make me do the same. And it must have worked, because I did. I had never felt more pressured to comply with something in my life.

Schuester slumped back in his seat, relieved. "Okay. Good," he mumbled more to himself than to anybody else. "Now, like I said before, I just need to ask you a few questions. Are you okay with that?"

I nodded again. "Okay," I said. It was all I could manage. My cheeks were still burning red from the sting of Hudson's words.

"Did you notice any kind of change in your sister's behavior before she went missing? Was she acting strangely, at all? Did she seem… _scared _of anything?"

I slowly shook my head. "No. Not to me. But… she told her friend, Brody, that she kept seeing some guy everywhere and she thought he was creepy. I think he was following her."

Schuester nodded and scribbled down what I'd said inside the folder. "Did she know the guy? The one she thought was creepy?"

"No," I repeated. I fidgeted in my seat, anxious as I tried my hardest to contain everything that was inside me. Answering his questions felt like starting all over again. We were wasting more time.

"And this Brody… are he and your sister involved?" Schuester asked.

"One of her friends talked to him," I blurted in lieu of an answer.

Schuester frowned at me. "Talked to who?" he said.

"The creepy guy," I clarified. "He talked to my sister's friend, Blaine. He was in a bar a couple months ago and that guy was there too and he was asking him all kinds of questions about Jess. Like, what classes she took and what she did in her free time and stuff. He was buying Blaine drinks all night just to keep him talking."

Schuester had been scribbling frantically inside his folder as I spoke and continued to do so even after I'd finished. I felt Santana squeeze my knee again. It wasn't a good squeeze this time and I knew why, but I didn't care. Maybe I would get arrested when they found out what I'd done to Blaine. Maybe I would even go to jail. But what did any of that matter when Jess was still missing?

"Do _you_ know this Blaine person?" Schuester asked me, hopeful.

"Not really," I answered, "but I know he lives in the UC dorms. Harris Hall, block four, room two-sixteen and his full name's Blaine Anderson. I don't have his number, but I can get it if you want?"

"No, no," Schuester shook his head as he again wrote down the information I'd given him. "That's great. Is there anybody else you can think of off the top of your head?"

It took me a second to answer because I was distracted by the way Santana had snatched her hand away from my knee. I knew she was angry.

"I don't think so," I said as I shook my head.

"Okay," Schuester bobbed his head as his eyes skimmed over the notes he had so far. When he was done he clicked his pen and slipped it back into his breast pocket. "I actually don't have much time right now, so I think we can call it quits for today. We'll go over everything in more detail tomorrow when we have your roommate with us," he told me, "Maybe you can talk with Mr Evans tonight, let him know what to expect?"

It was almost surreal, how genial he was being. It was strange to think he was the same man who had laughed me out of this very room multiple times before. Who'd treated me like I was crazy.

"Okay," was all I said in response.

"Great," he said back, "I'll give you a call in the morning." He got to his feet and reached for my hand so that he could shake it just as Hudson abruptly opened the door and left the room.

I guess he was in a hurry, too.

Schuester was still reading over my file as he headed that way himself, but after a couple of seconds he stopped short. "Bleaker Avenue. That's in Clifton, right?" he spoke with his back to us and I paused halfway out of my chair.

"Uh-huh," I said.

"You might wanna take the South Route," he told us, glancing over his shoulder, "Guy on the radio said the Parkway's flooded. I'm surprised you didn't hit it on your way here."

I saw Santana shrug out of the corner of my eye. "We must've just missed it," she said. "Guess we're gonna have to take a little detour, huh?"

It took a few seconds for it to register that she was talking to me. And even though my heart sank a little at the prospect, I didn't let it show. "Uh-huh," I said.

Schuester finally left us after that, for some reason pulling the door closed behind him. And then Santana and I were alone. It was strange how before we arrived here I had felt like all of me might break apart from worry and apprehension. Now I felt the same way because of relief.

That was until Santana rounded on me, a scowl etched into her features. "There was no reason for you to do that," she said through gritted teeth, "Blaine Anderson leads to the Union Bar, the Union Bar leads to the storage unit in Riverside. You wanna get yourself thrown in jail just so that we can go around in circles?" She shook her head at me and I shrugged.

"You said you wanted to talk to him again… to get a better description, remember?"

Santana sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of her nose. "It doesn't matter what I said. It's notworth the risk," she told me.

"It is if it helps find Jess," I retorted.

When Santana looked at me again, she had her lips pressed together in a thin, tight line. I don't think she agreed with me. She paced for a few seconds and then without warning she sat back down in her seat and put her head in her hands. I didn't know whether or not I should apologize for worrying her. I hadn't really thought about how she would feel when I'd told them about Blaine. I had only thought of Jessica.

"I'll just make sure I'm the one who gets to talk to him," she mumbled, "I'll go alone."

It seemed like as good a solution as any. I nodded. "Okay," I replied.

It felt like I had been saying that a lot lately.

Santana didn't seem to hear my response anyway. She got back up and left without looking at me, so I followed her.

/

Out in the lot, once the front of the station was out of sight, we decided to run because the rain was heavier than it had been in weeks and Santana's coat was still in her car. Out of habit, I made sure to jump over all of the rainbow gas puddles in the empty parking spaces as we went. It was something I used to do when I was a kid.

When Santana laughed at me I felt the knot in my stomach get a little looser.

We still managed to be soaked by the time we got back to her car. Santana slumped back behind the steering wheel, still smiling a little and breathing heavily. After a beat, she peeled off her sopping-wet blazer and tossed it unceremoniously onto the backseat. I was weirdly happy to see that she wasn't wearing her gun holster for a change. Maybe it was because it was her day off.

She glanced over at me as she started the engine and her smile faded, but it wasn't in a bad way.

/

It was only when we made a wrong turn just before the Parkway that I remembered we were taking a different route. Santana might not have been taking me home, but the bar and my car were still in that direction and I knew that was where we were headed.

I grew anxious again, like I had back at the station when I had first learned of the flooding. It made no sense, really. But it was what it was. The further we drove, the deeper the feeling burrowed.

"This is really fucking dangerous," Santana muttered. Between the rain and the wipers and the ever-increasing darkness we could barely see the street, but I knew that the traffic was bad. Everybody had been redirected. The car in front of us kept slipping on its bald tires.

"I know a shortcut," I told her.

She didn't dare look away from the road but I could tell she wanted to. She instead tried to blow a piece of hair out of her eye, but it was still wet so it just clung to her. I wanted to reach over and brush it aside.

"You do?" she said.

I nodded. "Yeah. I used to live around here." I didn't tell her the part where everything was so familiar it ached. But it could have been worse. For once, I was glad for the rain and the way it distorted my view. "Take the next left," I told her.

She did as I said, and the traffic thinned out considerably. Santana's shoulders sank with relief beside me. "Now where?" she asked.

"All the way to the end and then right," I replied, and she did what I told her again. It was nice; I wasn't used to people taking my advice.

If giving directions could be considered advice.

We turned onto a quiet, practically deserted side-street, cut off at the far end by a much busier through road. Around two thirds of the way down was when the burrowing feeling in my belly suddenly became too painful to ignore.

"Stop," I blurted.

Santana looked quickly over at me and then back at the road again. "Huh?" She frowned.

"Stop the car," I repeated.

She didn't do it right away, like I would have done. She pulled over sensibly and cut the engine. "What's wrong?" she asked, concern evident in her voice.

"Nothing," I shook my head, "Nothing's wrong, I just… This is my old street, that's all." I realized as I said it that I couldn't bring myself to look at the house itself. Fortunately it was a little way back and the side windows were too rain-spattered to be able to see anything anyway. "It's where I lived with my parents," I explained, "I couldn't go by without stopping."

It didn't really make any sense that I couldn't because I had had to endure going by without stopping every day for four years when I was in my teens. It was the route my school bus took. It had all been much fresher in my memory back then, too. Sometimes I even had to shut my eyes and pretend I was somewhere else.

It took very specific, seemingly innocuous things now to make me feel as badly as I had when I was younger. A pair of dirty work boots on the floor or maybe the smell of lavender and their voices would come bursting like knives through the sound barrier of my daydreams.

Always sounds. Never pictures.

But being on this street made me think far too vividly of my last full day in hospital after the accident. I had spent the whole morning picturing this street. Our house. I was excited about going home because it meant that I was better and that I was going to get to see everybody again. But then my Grandma had walked into my room with a face full of fear and sadness and resentment. Each feeling had made a new line in her skin.

She told me the truth and I felt a scream rise inside my lungs, but she had placed her hand over my mouth to stop it from coming out. She was afraid I'd wake the children that were still sleeping.

I still have that scream in me.

I wondered as I sat unmoving in Santana's car if maybe I'd accidentally lied when I'd first talked to her about my parents. Maybe I wasn't as okay with everything as I thought I was.

Santana. She still hadn't said anything. She was just watching me with a neutral expression and letting me think. "Okay. We can go now," I almost whispered.

"You sure?" she said.

I nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure."

/

Partway through the drive back, Santana asked me if I had given any more thought to going to the support group. I knew why she'd picked that moment to bring it up again. And I politely told her _no_.

I told _myself _that I would think about it some more after we found Jessica.

We pulled into the _Chang's _parking lot which was pretty much deserted and Santana stopped beside my car like she had done yesterday. She cut the engine and I unclipped my seat belt but I didn't make any move to get out.

"D'you have to work tonight?" she asked me.

I shook my head. "No, I have a day off, too," I said.

Santana nodded, and then we were quiet. That burrowing feeling had started back up inside my belly. Except this time it felt more like gnawing. I knew I wanted to say something, but I didn't know what that something was and it made me fidget. My heartbeat sped up. _Thump, thump, thump,_ it went. Even louder than the rain against the windshield.

"You okay?" Santana said.

"No," I mumbled, "I don't wanna be away from you."

I let myself look at her then. Santana was frowning at me but I knew that it was masking something else because of how warm and conflicted her eyes were. My bottom lip quivered. And I bit down on it to make it stop.

When Santana unbuckled her seat belt and reached towards me, I thought at first she was just going to brush some fluff off of my shoulder or something. But she didn't do that. She curled her fingers around the lapels of my jacket and tugged me towards her. And then in a flurry of urgency she was kissing me. Hard and fast. My stomach lurched and my eyes drifted closed, and I placed my hand on the steering wheel to keep myself from resting all of my weight on her. But she didn't stop pulling me closer. I had to swing my leg across until I had my knees planted on the seat either side of her hips, but I think that was what she wanted me to do. I was straddling her for the second time in as many days.

It was a tight fit. I could feel the bottom of the steering wheel against the base of my back, Santana squished between the seat and the front of me. She pushed my jacket off of my shoulders. _Shoved _it, in fact. I put my arms back and the rest just happened by itself. It fell from my body. The way she was acting made me feel desperate in a way that I wasn't used to at all. Suddenly wanting her was all I could think of.

I impulsively tugged at her blouse until it opened, thinking only fleetingly of her poor buttons. It came apart easily, though. Maybe I had gotten lucky and not pulled any off. I let my palms run over the top of her bra and then I squeezed, hard. Santana grunted. Right against my lips. And her tongue licked into my mouth, sliding against mine, _pushing_. Her mouth covered mine so completely I couldn't breathe.

It made me whimper. "_Mmph."_

And then I gasped when she pulled away, but whether it was for air or something else, I wasn't sure. Santana ducked her head and pressed her lips to my throat, licked and then kissed the same spot, right in the middle. Our sandpaper breaths rang out almost as loud as the pitter-patter of rain.

That was when I did it. I reached between us and unfastened my own pants. And then I fumbled behind me for Santana's hand. Which one I wasn't sure. In the end I got her left. I clutched at it and pushed it beneath my waistbands, both of them, and we stopped kissing. I wasn't sure if her hand was really cold or if I was burning up, but her fingers felt freezing against me. They slipped, up and down maybe twice, and then she pushed two of them inside with no regard for technique or grace.

I didn't care.

I felt the lower half of my body clench, my belly tremble, my fingers dig into her shoulders. My lips had parted, pressed to hers, but I think I had forgotten how to kiss. "Are you okay?" she whispered. At some point she had moved her hand to the back of my head and now her fingers were weaved through my wet hair. She was pressing my forehead to hers.

I gave a gentle nod. And then I rolled my hips. Pleasure filled me like a warm breeze and Santana clamped her teeth down around my bottom lip. She pulled and made it so that we were kissing again, slower than before but long and deep. I did it again: rolled my hips. Her palm rubbed against the outside and I could feel myself making it wet. But she didn't seem to mind.

Eventually she began meeting my hip movements with her hand, thrusting deeper inside me. The first time she did it I thought I might pass out from how good it felt. "_Fuhh_," I groaned. We had stopped kissing again. I just couldn't do both at the same time.

I buried my face in the crook of her neck and Santana's fist tightened in my hair. My gyrations had grown jerkier, now, more frantic and I was worried I might tear her blouse from how tightly I was gripping it, so I moved one of my hands and pressed my palm against the side window. The tips of my fingers dug into the cool glass.

When I came, it was quick and completely consuming. I pressed down hard into her hand and a wet, smothered moan tore from my throat.

And then all my weight collapsed against her.

I panted and so did Santana, but she wrapped her free arm around me anyway. I knew I still had the other trapped but I couldn't move yet and I think she was okay with that. For some reason, the thought of her not minding made my chest squeeze impossibly tight. I had never cried after sex before, and I had no intention of starting now, but _gosh _did I suddenly feel like it.

I shook my head a little and drew back, at first just to look at her but then I couldn't help pressing my clammy hands to her cheeks and holding her face. I let her pull hers out of my pants before I kissed her. And I only did it on the cheek. Right next to my thumb. I noticed for the first time how hot and syrupy-thick the air had become.

"Fuck," Santana whispered. "_Fuck, fuck, fuck._" She wore the same expression she had before, when I'd said I didn't want to be away from her. "Can you keep a secret, Brittany?" she asked me.

I knew what she meant so I gave her a small nod. "I'll keep as many as you want," I said.

She smiled a tiny bit at that, and then she pressed her lips to mine. Just one kiss, like I'd done on her cheek. Then I let my fingers trail downwards until I could press my palm to her chest. Her heart hadn't slowed yet like mine was beginning to.

"Will you come home with me?" I mumbled.

It took her a few seconds, but she told me, "_Okay_."


	13. Chapter 12

**a/n: Hey! :) sorry it's been so long since my last update. Real life stuff! I'm not sure how frequently I'm going to be able to update from now on so I'm thinking if you don't like waiting for updates, maybe hold off until it's finished? Would probably be less frustrating :) Also sorry sorry sorry to anybody who's messaged me or asked stuff in reviews. I just haven't had a chance to answer but most of the questions were about updates anyway, so here it is. Hope you like it. Lemme know what you think! :) **

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

"You wanna follow?" Santana asked me.

I shook my head and then I leaned back in my seat and pressed my chin to my chest while I zipped up my pants. "I can get my car tomorrow," I mumbled, "Or Sam can do it." I shrugged after and then looked across to find her fumbling with the buttons on her shirt. They were all still intact.

"Okay," she said. Her voice shook a little as she spoke, and her top lip shone with beads of perspiration. I knew it wasn't because she was hot. She'd cracked the windows and switched on the AC a few minutes ago so that the windshield would defog quicker. The car was freezing.

"You okay?" I asked.

Santana nodded a little too quickly. "Uh-huh," she replied. But her movements only grew jerkier, more uncoordinated. She couldn't get the last button in the hole. And after she finally did she reached down and tried to pick up my jacket from the floor by her feet, but dropped it twice before she managed to get a firm grip on it. She threw it onto my lap and I knew something was wrong. I had known right away. The tightness in my stomach and the thick wad of phlegm caught in my throat were surer than her words and her sudden propensity for clumsiness.

"I don't wanna make things hard for you," I said just above a whisper. Santana shook her head.

"You're not," she muttered. "It's _not _hard. That's the problem." She ran her fingers through her hair when she'd finished talking, like I had seen her do more times than I could count by now.

"We're not doing anything wrong," I said.

Santana placed a palm over her forehead and sighed. I heard it even above the AC's annoying blow dryer whirring. "I know. It'll be all right," she told me, "It just has to stay between us." She pursed her lips and I gave her a tiny nod.

"Okay, but… Officer Puckerman knows," I told her reluctantly. Not that Santana seemed surprised. She just rolled her eyes at me and then averted her gaze so that she wasn't really looking at anything.

"I know," she said, "He left me a voicemail."

"He did?" I frowned.

"Uh-huh," Santana nodded, "Don't worry. He'll gimme shit but he won't tell anybody."

I didn't think he would but it was still kind of a relief to hear her say it. "Okay," I murmured.

"You ready?" she asked, but she didn't wait for my answer. She took off the handbrake and backed out of our parking spot and I had to fasten my seat belt as we drove.

Santana didn't bother with hers.

/

It was still raining pretty hard when we got home. Santana grabbed her coat out of the back seat and held it over both of us as we walked from the car to the front door. "No umbrella today?" I forced a smile as I asked her, even though she was too close to look at my face.

"Forgot it," she mumbled in response.

I unlocked the door and let Santana in ahead of me, but she stopped in her tracks just on the other side of the threshold and I had to squeeze in behind her. Sam was on the couch, halfway through tying his shoelaces, and my heart skittered inside my chest.

It was a testament to how little he'd been home lately.

"Hey," he said, his eyes moving back and forth between the two of us, "What's going on?"

The question turned my chest-flutter into a dull thudding. And my skin prickled with heat. I was never very good with explanations or relaying facts – when your brain was as muddled as mine it became far too much like a game of _Chinese Whispers_ – that was part of the reason why I'd put off calling him. But explanations you knew would hurt to say and hurt to hear – _God_, I think I would rather have sewn my mouth shut. "Something's… happened," I said dumbly.

Sam frowned but gave me a small nod, and as he stood up with his sneakers still partially untied I instinctively stepped closer to him. "What is it?" he asked. I took his hand and ran my thumb over his knuckles. They were usually rough, weathered from almost three years working in that auto body shop, but not this time.

"Come in the kitchen with me?" I said.

And Sam nodded again.

/

Santana made us tea while I told Sam about Bug and Kitty and Cassandra and the storage unit. She'd whispered in my ear back in the living room that she could leave us alone if I wanted her to but I had given her a firm shake of my head.

I couldn't think of anything I wanted _less_.

Now the three of us were sat around the kitchen table, Sam and I on one side, Santana opposite. She barely looked at either of us and even when she did I could tell it was just a formality.

"So… she's _gone_?" Sam said, his face paling.

"We don't know anything for sure yet," Santana replied, "But we think this Bug guy took her, yeah."

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger and shook his head. "I don't understand how this is happening," he whispered.

I didn't know what to say to that because I didn't really understand either. All I knew in that moment was that I was almost glad to have to comfort him. Maybe it was strange but it brought me some respite.

"The police wanna talk to us tomorrow," I told him, "You might have to take the afternoon off work. Is that okay?"

"I'll take the whole day off," was his immediate response.

I bobbed my head up and down. "Okay. That's good," I murmured.

"Why didn't you call me?" Sam said. He looked at me with a creased expression that made my throat tighten. "Would you even have told me now if I wasn't here when you got back?"

All I could do was shrug at him. "I don't know. You don't wanna hear things lately."

He bristled once I'd said it, his mouth snapping shut, and then after a couple of seconds his shoulders hunched forward. It was something he did sometimes when he was mad because he was too kind to let people know. He would make his body into a cage so that it couldn't get out.

"I'm… sorry," he stammered, finally.

"For what?"

Sam shook his head. "I dunno," he answered. "I'm just sorry." He stood up after he'd said the last part and the feet of his chair scraped hard against the old checkered floor.

"What're you doing?" I asked.

"I need to go," he told me.

I glanced briefly at the three cups of tea that had been left forgotten in the middle of the table. "_Now_?" I said.

Sam nodded. "I was supposed to meet Mercedes, like, a half hour ago."

"…Oh," I said, but he was almost out of the room already. I exchanged a look with Santana but it wasn't long enough for me to decipher what her expression meant. I followed Sam from the kitchen and into the living room where he stooped down in front of the door to finish tying his shoelaces. And I didn't know what to say, so I just waited behind him.

"For not believing you," he mumbled.

I scrunched my face up. "Huh?"

"That's why I'm sorry," he clarified, "For not believing you." He got to his feet again but he didn't face me. He just let his hand rest on the door handle. "I just really wanted you to be wrong," he said, "Just this one time." And then he was gone. Out of the house and into the rain in just a tee shirt.

I wondered if his intention was to take the car. I wanted to run after him with his jacket and tell him it wasn't there but his words made my feet feel like they were planted to the floor. And then Santana was behind me, reaching past my arm to push the door shut.

"Guy's weird," she whispered. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to hear it or not, but I made myself turn anyway. Santana put her hand on my shoulder.

"I think weird is normal right now," I mumbled.

She gave me an impartial shrug. "I guess," she said. And then she moved her hand from my shoulder to my cheek. I hadn't been expecting her to do that, and the feeling of it blew right through my chest and my belly and my knees. I had to close my eyes.

"Did you wanna go upstairs?" I mumbled, remembering why we had come back here in the first place. Santana didn't answer, at least not audibly, but I felt her thumb swipe over my bottom lip and my breathing faltered for a second. I covered her hand with my own to make her stop. Not because I didn't like it. But her hands on me felt like what I imagined the first morning after those month-long nights they have in Alaska would feel like. It would be the most beautiful morning you ever saw until you remembered you were still in the same place. And it was still really cold. And the rest of the world was still a million miles away.

She was too much good all at once when things were still so shitty.

But I forced my shaky legs to work and led her up to my room by her hand. Santana stood at the foot of the bed like she was teetering on the edge of something and watched me kick my shoes off before she did the same. And then she sat. She scooted to the middle and fell back gently until her head touched the pillow, holding her hand out so that I would follow. So I did. I crawled with my knees and my hands on either side of her until our faces were level and then I leaned down and pushed my lips into hers.

It was slow, the way we kissed. Gentle. It contained none of the urgency it had back in her car. Santana slid her fingers into my hair and raked her nails over my head and down my neck, and I relaxed enough to rest more of my weight on her. I flicked my tongue out. Touched hers. And it felt good. It really did. But a dull ache grew behind my eyes, the beginning of a migraine, and I had to draw back. Santana took in a stuttered breath and then she pressed her palms to my cheeks and held my face close to hers.

"I'm sorry. I don't think I can do this in my Grandma's room," I said.

Santana pouted. Not a grumpy pout, but a sympathetic one. Her thumb began to move in circles over my skin. "Britt, this is _your _room," she said.

I shook my head. "My stuff's in here now, but it's still hers. You're the first person I've had up here."

Her lips quirked up a little at the corners, like she knew something I didn't. "I find that hard to believe," she said, holding my eyes until I couldn't help but smile back, my cheeks blooming with heat.

"It's true," I mumbled. It _was _true. I'd never brought Mike back here; or Matt, for that matter. I hadn't invited _anybody_ into my bedroom since I'd moved back.

"Okay," Santana whispered, her smile fading, "I'm kinda tired, anyways. We could just sleep?"

I nodded, eager. I didn't care that it was too early for bed. I moved into the space beside her but I didn't bother trying to get under the covers because Santana stayed where she was with her eyes fixed on the ceiling. So I put my head on her shoulder and waited, and then when it seemed like she was okay with that I wound both of my arms around one of hers. She smelled like apple blossom again.

"You smell good," I mumbled.

"Thanks," she said. She was still stiff, like she had been back in the car. And I knew the reason why so I wouldn't ask her about it. I wondered if maybe I kissed her well enough it would make her apprehension disappear.

But that was something I could try in the morning when she wasn't so tired.

"G'night," I said, but she didn't say it back. I wasn't sure if she was asleep already or just pretending, but either was okay with me.

/

I shivered when I opened my eyes. At first I thought it was the cold that had woken me up, but then I spotted Santana on her butt on the floor with one shoe on and the other in her hand.

"Sorry," she said as I blinked down at her.

"S'okay," I croaked. Santana quickly slipped on the other shoe and then got to her feet. "You're going?" I said.

"I need to shower and get back here before Schuester and Hudson show up," she explained, stuffing her hands into her pants pockets.

"You can shower here," I told her.

Santana took a few moments to respond, and when she did she wouldn't look at me. "I not sure…" she mumbled before trailing off, but I was too groggy to wonder what she was going to say.

"Bathroom's down the hall and there's clean towels in the linen closet," I said, before letting my head fall back against the pillow. I didn't close my eyes again until the bedroom door closed. And a few minutes later I heard the water come on.

I let the trickle of it lull me back to sleep.

/

I stood motionless for far too long in the same, scalding-hot shower when Santana was done. I emerged pink and delicate and dizzy from steam and found her downstairs making coffee. We ate cereal for breakfast and didn't say much to each other until she pulled my sister's diary abruptly from her purse and dumped it on the table in front of me. I had almost forgotten she had it.

"What's that for?" I mumbled through a mouthful of Fruit Loops.

"They're gonna ask for it," she said, "But we don't need to tell them I already got it looked at, okay?"

That was kind of a given, but I nodded anyway. "Okay," I said, "Why didn't you tell me you got it back?"

Santana sighed and kept her eyes fixed on the book. "I was waiting for the right time," she explained, "But I don't think that exists."

"What did they say?" I asked.

"You were right," she told me, "It doesn't match up."

At this point it wasn't exactly a surprise, but my heart still jolted. "It doesn't?"

"No." She shook her head.

"So, wh-" I began to speak but a sharp knock at the front door cut me off. I frowned, and so did Santana.

"You expecting anybody this morning?" she asked me.

"I don't think so," I said. I got up and Santana followed. I think she was still behind me when I opened the door. Detective Hudson was stood on the front porch, jotting something down inside a folder. He looked up with a small smile that quickly disappeared.

"Uh… morning, Miss Pierce. Sorry I'm a little early but I have other people to see."

"S'okay," I stammered, "Come on in." I had to brush past Santana as I turned, and I didn't dare look at her face.

"Lopez. I didn't know you'd be here," Hudson said. He pushed the door closed and waited for Santana to respond, but I knew she wouldn't. _How could she?_

"My roommate isn't here," I blurted. Detective Hudson frowned at me.

"He's not?"

I shook my head. "No. He's with his girlfriend."

"…Okay," he mumbled as he began scribbling inside his folder again, "How fast can you get him here?"

"Pretty fast," I said with a shrug. "She doesn't live far." I moved toward the couch as I spoke. I had left my purse there last night and I was pretty sure my cell phone was still inside. When I found it I erased the plethora of missed calls from the screen without looking who they were from.

I didn't care.

"_Britt?_" Sam answered after only three rings. I could hear the faint slicking of tires through rain on the other end of the line and I knew he was outside.

"Detective Hudson's here," I told him, "Can you come home?"

"_I'm already on my way,_" he said, "_I thought they weren't coming 'til this afternoon_."

I shook my head. "Change of plan. How long will you be?"

"_I dunno. Ten minutes?_" he replied.

"Okay. Please hurry," I said, and then I hung up without waiting for him to respond. "He's on his way," I mumbled to Hudson.

"Great," he said, "Maybe we could make ourselves comfortable while we wait for him?"

I nodded. "Sure." And then I took him into the kitchen so that we could sit at the table again. I had sat at that same table with Hudson and Sergeant Schuester the first night I realized Jessica was missing. They'd brought other people with them that time, too. Told me they were Crime scene techs. They had pulled my Grandma's house apart at the seams and found nothing.

"Where's Schuester?" Santana asked, taking the seat beside mine.

"Back at the station," Hudson answered, "He had some stuff to take care of so you're stuck with me. I hope that's okay?" He shot me a tiny wink that didn't seem to suit the situation, but I smiled politely. "This the diary?" he asked.

I bobbed my head. "Uh-huh."

"May I?" He reached for it but didn't pick it up until I had given him another nod. I watched him flick through the pages until he found the note and then he let the cover flop down again. "I'm gonna need to take this if that's okay?"

"Of course," I said.

"We've still got the picture you gave us when you first made the report, so I won't take any more of those from you."

I nodded again. I think agreeing to anything and everything had become a nervous habit. "Okay," I said.

"Okay," Hudson echoed before reopening his file. "But I _was_ wondering if _you_ could look at some pictures for _me_? Some of the ones we found in the storage facility. I know it's a long shot but if you recognize any of 'em it could really help us." He took a small stack of photographs out of the folder and slid them across the surface of the table towards me. So I picked them up.

I only recognized one of the women, and that was because it was Kitty Wilde. I shook my head as I skimmed through a second time, just to be sure. "Sorry," I said, "I don't know them."

"No problem," Hudson sighed as he took the pictures back, "It was worth a shot."

"Are they all… _dead_?" I asked him.

"We don't even know who the last two are yet," he replied. It wasn't a complete answer but I didn't push it. I wasn't sure I _really _wanted to know, anyway.

Knowing about Kitty and Cassandra was enough.

"Have you talked to Blaine?" I said. Santana stiffened a little beside me and I knew that she would be screaming for me to shut up inside her head.

"Not yet," Hudson said with a shake of his head. "But we'll get to him."

"Okay," I mumbled, sucking my lips into my mouth.

/

Sam showed up almost ten minutes later, just like he said. I think he was the one Detective Hudson really wanted to talk to because I knew they had gotten everything they possibly could out of me already. I called him into the kitchen when I heard the front door open and he took the only empty seat left at the table.

"Mr Evans. I'm Detective Hudson, this is Detective Lopez," Hudson said, taking Sam's hand so that he could shake it. "Miss Pierce told you we were coming?" He smiled amiably and Sam nodded.

"Uh-huh," he said.

"I won't keep you long," Hudson continued, "I'm just trying to piece everything together from all sides. D'you remember where you were the night Jessica disappeared?"

Sam bobbed his head. "Yeah, I was at my girlfriend's place that night."

"Okay," Hudson nodded and began to scribble in his folder again, "What's your girlfriend's name?"

"Mercedes Jones," Sam answered.

"Did she know Jessica, too?"

"Yeah… they're friends," he said.

"_Good_ friends?" Hudson asked.

Sam paused a little before lifting his shoulders up and down. To say he looked a little bewildered in that moment would have been an understatement, but I didn't blame him. People in suits asking you questions was intimidating. I wanted to hold his hand.

"Jess introduced them," I said, to save him from having to answer.

Hudson nodded again and jotted down what I'd told him. "And when was the last time you saw Jessica, Mr Evans?"

Sam shrugged. "I guess… the morning before she disappeared? We passed each other in the front yard. She was just leaving for class."

"Okay," Hudson said, "And you were coming home from…?"

"My girlfriend's place again," Sam replied.

"You stay there a lot?"

"Sure. I guess."

"And she'd be willing to verify that?"

Sam frowned, and then his eyes darted to me. I watched him swallow a thick lump down from the top of his throat to the bottom, but when his lips parted nothing came out.

"Don't worry, Mr Evans. It's just standard procedure," Hudson said, looking up from his folder and raising his eyebrows at Sam.

"We'd like to talk with her anyway, if she and Jessica were close," Santana said.

Sam swallowed again before giving a resolute nod. He looked down at the table top as he brought his phone out of his pocket. "You need her number?" he mumbled.

"That'd be good," Hudson said. He exchanged a look with Santana as he spoke that made me feel like they had a secret I wasn't in on. A knot formed in my chest.

"Here," Sam said, sliding his cell phone towards Hudson. Detective Hudson copied down the number on the screen and then thanked him.

"Could you excuse us for a minute?" Santana said. Hudson cocked an eyebrow at her when he was done and for a second, before he got up out of his chair, I wasn't sure who she was talking to. He took the pictures out of the file again and put them in front of Sam.

"Maybe you could take a look at these while I talk with Detective Lopez," he said, "See if you recognize any of 'em."

They left the room and Sam picked the photographs up and sifted through them for a few seconds before dropping them again. He rubbed at his pink, puffy eyes with his fists. "Anything?" I said.

Sam shook his head. "Sorry."

"It's okay," I mumbled. I hadn't had the energy to hope for a better response anyway.

"It was on the news," he said.

My brow furrowed. "What was?"

"The body in the storage unit. It was on the news last night. Looked like a scene from a movie or something. There was a helicopter flying around and they had all these cops everywhere." He shrugged at me, but before I could ask what was said I heard words from the other room where before there had only been a faint murmur.

"Oh, I'm sure," Santana spoke, "Maybe I should just call the station, huh? I'm sure they'd_ love_ to hear about it."

"Tell you what, Lopez. How 'bout you keep your fucking mouth shut, and I won't mention the fact that you were already here when I showed up wearing the same clothes you had on yesterday," Hudson retorted.

Sam frowned at me, but I averted my gaze. And Hudson walked back into the room a moment later and scooped the pictures back into the file, tucking it up under his arm along with my sister's diary. His top lip was lined with sweat now and he huffed out a breath as he adjusted his tie with his free hand.

"Anybody you recognize?" he said. Sam shook his head. "Okay, no problem," he mumbled. "I think we're done here but I'll be in touch, okay?" He backed away a couple of steps before turning on his heels.

"Wait, that's it?" Sam said. But there was no reply.

I heard the front door close a few moments after Hudson had left the room, and for a few heart-stopping moments I wondered if Santana had left with him.

But I knew that made no sense.

She came back ever-so-slightly paler than she had been before and picked up her purse from the kitchen floor. When she looked at me I almost couldn't take the sudden weight of it. I didn't understand what had happened but I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to.

"I should go," she said.

"Okay," I agreed. And then somewhat reluctantly I followed her. We stopped by the front door and I reached for her hand but ended up grabbing only one of her fingers. "Are you okay?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm fine."

"What happened?"

Santana shook her head. "Not today, Britt," she mumbled.

It only made me want to know more, but I gave her a small nod. "Okay."

"I'll call you," she told me, and then she took her hand back and slipped out of the door. I pushed it closed behind her. I didn't want to but I did it. I let myself be away from her.

And then I went back into the kitchen. I took in Sam's crumpled white shirt, his messy hair, how cold the room was. I got this feeling like everything was wrong. Not just the obvious things, but the small ones, too.

"She stayed the night?" Sam said.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"Where'd she sleep?"

I sighed and then gave him a shrug. "You _know_ where she slept," I mumbled.

He bobbed his head up and down. "I think I forget sometimes," he said.

"What? That I like girls, too?"

Sam's lips twitched a little at the corners. "I dunno. It's been a while since you liked _anybody_."

I almost argued before I realized I wasn't sure enough to disagree. "I guess," I said.

Sam nodded one more time before his face crumpled in a way that suggested he'd been forcing it to be steady for longer than anybody should have to. He was suddenly sobbing without shame, his head buried in his hands. Deep, choking sobs that made me feel that dread, that awful uncertainty that I was so afraid of, thoughts I'd kept clenched behind a ridge at the back of my mind for weeks. For the first time, I let them fill me completely. And my knees buckled. I made it to the chair beside Sam and wound my arms around his shoulders. Pulled him closer. He was so hot and clammy. And he smelled like an odd combination of cooking oil and too much cologne.

"Sam, I need you – I need you to help me with something," I told him.

"I'm s-orry," he stammered, his shoulders going stiff.

"It's okay," I said, a tight anticipation building in my chest. "I wanna find his family. The storage unit guy. I know the police said he doesn't have any but there must be _somebody_, right? We gotta find them, Sam."

"I… I dunno, B-ritt," he sobbed. I knew it was the best I could get out of him in that moment. Maybe it wasn't what I should have been talking about. Maybe I should just have told him that everything was going to be okay. That was what a normal person would have said.

"I don't want him to be alone," I mumbled.

Sam didn't say anything back, but I knew he didn't want that either.


	14. Chapter 13

**a/n: Sorry about the long wait for an update again! I'll try to make it a little quicker next time. Thanks again to everyone for reading and reviewing. I always love hearing what you think! :D**

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen **

Later that afternoon a brown car, not unlike Santana's, settled on the street at the bottom of our driveway. The two men inside read newspapers and drank coffee and stole the odd glance up at the house but besides that they didn't move much. Sam and I peaked at them through the blind at the kitchen window. We waited until I was sure they were the cops that Sergeant Schuester had told me about.

"Should we go talk to them?" Sam asked. I shrugged at him and then let the blind go. It snapped back into place.

"Sergeant Schuester said if we don't feel safe we should," I told him. "D'you feel safe?"

He nodded slowly. "Sure. I guess."

We exchanged a tight-lipped smile, the kind we'd been exchanging periodically all day. And then he kept on looking at me, the whites of his eyes full of pink cracks. There had been nothing behind them since he'd stopped crying, like there wasn't anything left inside him but blood and organs. I hoped like hell it was just because he was tired.

"You look sleepy," I said.

"Yeah," he agreed, "You mind if I take a nap on the couch?"

I shrugged in response. I didn't care where he slept, so long as he did. "Okay," I said.

/

I called Santana that evening after Sam had woken up and left for his girlfriend's place, told her about my plan to find Benjamin Ullman-Green's family. She had sighed in exasperation, but she didn't try to talk me out of it. After the way she'd left earlier I was just happy she was talking to me at all.

"_I'll tell you what I can, Brittany. But if we_ _couldn't find anybody, _you_ probably won't either. The guy was a loner._"

"I just need to know where he lived," I said. I heard the sound of papers rustling on the other end of the line before she said anything back.

"_Well, his last known address was forty-four Clayton Street. Apartment seventeen_. _Down in Riverside, same as the lock-up,"_ Santana said, "_But the guy who owns the building moved his nephew in there, like, three months after the rent stopped getting paid."_

I grabbed the pad and pen I kept on the coffee table and scrawled the address as quickly as I could. "Okay. Thanks," I mumbled.

"_Britt_," Santana sighed. "_I… fuck._"

I frowned. "What?"

"_Nothing… just. It looks like my break's over. I'll call you when I get off, okay?_"

I nodded reluctantly. I didn't want to stop talking to her. "Okay," I said. I waited for Santana to hang up before I did, and then I took the spot on the couch that Sam had left vacant. I laid back, closed my eyes, and eagerly succumbed to the same heavy darkness I always felt right before I fell asleep, but that was as far as I got. I jerked awake, let my eyes fall closed again, and then repeated the process five or six times before I gave up and turned on the TV.

/

When I opened my eyes it was early enough that the birds were still chirping loud enough to be audible over the rain and traffic. I wasn't sure when I had finally drifted off but the remote was still in my hand and I had an awkward crick in my neck from the arm of the couch. The front door clicked shut and Sam kicked off his shoes. Wet strings of rain plastered his hair to his face.

"We really need to get the car," he muttered.

"M-hm," I mumbled, nestling back down. I curled my arms around my head and felt the weight of the couch dip by my feet a moment later.

"Your friend, Tina, called me," Sam said, "Said you're not answering your phone? You were supposed to work yesterday."

I scrunched my forehead but I still didn't look up. And then I tried to figure out what day it was but they all ran together like puddles in my head. "Probably," I slurred.

"You're not in trouble or anything. She was just worried. Mr C, too. They thought maybe something happened 'cause you haven't been back for the car," he told me.

"Okay," I said.

"You goin' in today?"

I shook my head and then finally forced myself to sit up, all thoughts of going back to sleep ebbing away once I remembered the plan I'd made. It gave me a second wind. "No," I said, "We're gonna go to Benjamin's old apartment today."

Sam frowned. "_Who_?"

"The dead guy," I clarified. I rubbed at my eyes with my fists.

"Right," Sam grunted, "We're really doing that, huh?"

I nodded. "It's the right thing to do, isn't it?"

Sam lifted his shoulders up and down in indifference. "Who knows," was his response. He sighed and then gave my knee a quick squeeze. "Okay, just lemme change first?"

"Sure. I need to shower anyways."

Sam breathed a half-hearted laugh as he pushed himself back up off of the couch. "We'll get a shower when we go get the car," he said.

/

"Those men are different," I mumbled.

Sam pulled the front door shut and tugged his hood tighter over his head. "Huh?"

"The men in the car," I said, "They're not the same ones that were there yesterday."

He squinted through the rain down towards the brown Crown Victoria at the bottom of our driveway before shrugging. "They gotta sleep some time, Britt," he said. He started walking and I fell into step beside him. And only a moment later I heard a car engine behind us rumble to life. The Crown Victoria. It drove until it was beside us and then slowed to an almost-standstill. The driver's side window wound down and a middle-aged man with thinning blond hair and a face full of lines smiled at us.

"Can we give you a ride anywhere?" he asked.

Sam and I stopped and so did the car. We exchanged a shrug before he grabbed the rear door handle and opened it. He let me climb in first. "Thanks," I huffed to whoever was listening.

"No problem." The driver turned in his seat so that he could look at us. "I'm Detective Bell. This is Officer Harris." The dark-haired guy in the passenger seat turned around, too, a grin lighting up his gray face. He was much younger than Detective Bell, fresher. He still had whatever the hell it was that made peoples' eyes sparkle, the same thing that seemed to have been beaten out of all the other cops I'd met so far.

"Hey," he said, his grin growing so big that the corners of his mouth seemed to disappear into his cheeks.

"Don't mind him," Detective Bell grunted, "This is his first plainclothes job. He's excited." The officer's lips twitched a little, his face blooming red with embarrassment, but he didn't stop smiling. I felt something like relief wash over me when they both turned toward the windshield again. "Where we taking you?"

"Uh, Chang's Bar and Restaurant," Sam answered, "You know it?"

"Sure, up on the corner of Oakley and Fifth, right?" said Bell.

Sam said, "Uh-huh," and then the car began to move again. I fastened my seatbelt and tried to comb the wetness out of my hair with my fingers.

"So, you folks doing okay?" Detective Bell asked, his eyes meeting mine in the rear view mirror. I nodded my head.

"Sure," I said.

"Well, you need anything from us, you just holler, okay? It's what we're here for." His eyes crinkled like he was smiling and then he turned his attention back to the road.

"Thanks," Sam and I said in unison.

We arrived at the bar not long after, having spent the rest of the journey in virtual silence. Sam had explained our car situation to Detective Bell but there wasn't much else to say. We got out and jogged over to my parking spot, Sam taking the passenger side, got in the car and re-shook the moisture out of our hair.

As we eased toward the exit I watched the Crown Victoria, saw it do an unexpected U-turn in the middle of the lot before skidding to a halt right in front of us. I slammed on the breaks and felt Sam's hand clamp down on my shoulder.

"What the-" I muttered. Detective Bell got out of the car, tugging the front of his blazer together to shield his shirt and tie from the rain as he approached my window. He stooped over and tapped it twice before I found the gumption to press the button that made it go down. "Hey. Everything okay?" I said.

"I thought you were going to work," he yelled through the downpour, squinting water droplets out of his eyes.

My brow furrowed. "You know I work here?"

"Of course," he said. "Where're you going?"

I looked briefly at Sam, who just pursed his lips at me. "We told you we were picking up our car," I answered.

"I thought _he_ was picking up your car," Bell said, extending his pointer finger and directing toward Sam.

"Nope. Both of us," I said. "We're visiting a friend."

"You're really not supposed to leave your house unless it's necessary, Miss Pierce," he told me. "It's not our job to follow you around the city."

"Then don't," I said with a small shrug. I wound the window up again and Detective Bell snatched his hand away. And then I reversed the car so that I had room to drive around theirs. Bell stumbled backwards, his face creased with bewilderment.

"Britt!" Sam hissed, "What're you _doing_?"

I didn't answer him until we'd bypassed the other car. I watched Detective Bell scramble for his door in the rear view mirror, forgot the pot-hole that came just before you got to the street and slammed into it. Sam braced himself against the dashboard. "What, I'm under house arrest now? What for?" I stammered, my arm shaking with apprehension as I switched gear.

"It's not house arrest, Britt. They think you're in danger. They're _protecting _you."

"Well, I already told Santana I don't need protecting," I retorted.

Sam sighed but he didn't argue. I think he probably would have if he hadn't have been tired. I wondered how well he slept at night. If he'd been at home more we could have kept each other company. At night when I couldn't sleep was always when I wanted company the most.

"I… I can't lose you, too," he mumbled.

I shook my head. "You haven't lost _anybody_ yet."

/

Benjamin's building was a tall one. Four brick walls painted red, built right in the middle of an ex housing project. The main entrance opened straight onto the stairwell and the door was ajar. In fact, I wasn't sure it was capable of closing at all.

We found apartment seventeen on the third floor. Sam knocked. And there was no answer first time but on the second try we heard someone shuffling around inside. A young man with a buzz cut and three-day stubble opened up. He narrowed his eyes at us and swigged on a beer.

"Can I help you?" he grunted.

"Uh…" Sam stuttered. "We… we're here about the guy who used to live here."

"Yeah? Which one?"

"His name was Benjamin Ullman-Green," I said. "D'you know him?"

"He the guy who didn't pay his rent?" he asked.

I nodded. "I think so."

"Then no, I don't know him. Sorry."

I had known it was a long shot, coming here, but my heart still sank. And it wasn't his fault but I felt like slapping a more sincere apology out of him. "What about your Uncle?" I said.

The man frowned. "What about him?"

"Well he owns the building, right?"

"Sure." He shrugged and took another sip of beer.

"Could we talk to him?" Sam asked. "This guy passed away recently and we're looking for his family. Anything anybody can tell us would be great."

The man's eyes softened almost imperceptibly. And his shoulders slouched a little. "He's on vacation," he sighed. "But you could try talking to Mrs Greco."

"Mrs Greco?" I said.

"Uh-huh," he gestured behind us with a pointed nod. "Number twelve. I was in here for a week clearing out all the junk. I think the guy was, like, a hoarder or somethin'. Anyways, she was over here grilling me about him every day. Guess they were friends."

"They were?"

"Seemed that way." The man gave another shrug.

"Okay… That's great. Thank you," I said.

He bobbed his head at us. "Sure," he mumbled. And then he waited only a few silent seconds before closing the door in our faces.

"Nice guy," Sam muttered.

I could only nod in response. "So… Mrs Greco?" I said. He lifted his shoulders up and down and we turned until number twelve was in front of us. I waited for Sam to move before I did, but he let me knock this time. A tentative knock. The door unlocked from the inside a moment later. It cracked open with the safety chain in place, and a pale eye with wrinkled lids peeked at us through the gap.

"Who is it?" said a woman's voice.

"Uh… Hi. My name's Brittany," I told her, "This is my friend, Sam. Are you Mrs Greco?"

"I don't wanna buy anything," she said.

Sam shot me a frown. "We're… not selling stuff," he assured her, "We just wanted to talk with you. About the man who used to live at number seventeen?"

The door slammed shut the second the words left his lips. And then there was a muffled sound, metal rattling against wood, before it opened up again. Fully this time. An elderly lady, at least a foot shorter than myself, in a nightgown and fluffy slippers stood before us. Her round eyes were wide, eyebrows raised right up to her curly-gray hairline.

"You know Ben?" she said.

"Uh, not exactly. But we've heard you do," Sam replied.

The old lady reached for me, wrapping both of her hands around one of mine. "Is he okay?" she said, "I haven't heard from him in so long." Frail fingers dug into my hand much harder than they looked capable of doing. I gulped. And then I looked at Sam but he was as pale as I suddenly felt.

"I… I'm sorry, Mrs Greco," I stuttered, "Ben… he's… he passed away."

Mrs Greco took only one of her hands away from mine, pressed the back of it to her lips. It shook as she did so, and my chest constricted painfully. I was consumed by a sudden, overwhelming feeling that I was in completely the wrong place. And I wanted nothing more than to go back a few hours and listen to Santana or Sam or Detective Bell.

_I had no right... _

"I'm so sorry," I repeated dumbly.

"How?" she whispered. I shook my head but when my mouth opened all that came out was air.

"The police are still looking into it," Sam answered.

"The _police_?" she gasped. "What on earth happened?"

I swallowed down a gulp again. "Maybe… maybe we could talk inside?" said Sam.

Mrs Greco directed an emphatic nod in his direction before using her free hand to clutch at his. "Of course... Of course," she stammered, "Come in, please. Both of you." She tugged the pair of us forward until we were forced to squeeze ourselves through the doorjamb at the same time.

/

Mrs Greco's apartment was pretty. Almost every surface had flowers on it and it smelled like home cooking and vanilla-scented soap. Sam and I sat side-by-side on the couch, Mrs Greco on the armchair opposite. The pot of tea on the coffee table between us had remained untouched since she set it down.

"He was a good boy. He used to help me," she said. Her eyes were so big… _wide._ I couldn't stop looking at them. I gave her the smallest nod I was sure I had ever given anybody. "He fixed the television set when it stopped working."

"That was nice," I almost whispered.

Mrs Greco bobbed her head. "He wouldn't take any money so I cooked dinner instead. Spaghetti and meatballs. I knew he didn't really want to stay but he humored me. I think we both liked the company. And he came over a lot after that. Always reminded me of my husband… even looked a little like him." She leaned forward and picked up the framed picture that sat on the coffee table. She held it towards me.

"This is your husband?" I said. I was gentle when I took the frame. It looked old.

"Right before he went off to fight in Korea," she told me. I swiped my thumb over the black and white photograph, a handsome man with dark eyes and a square chin wore an army uniform. He wasn't looking at the camera but you could see he was trying to fight off a smile.

"Was he okay?" I asked, handing the picture back. Mrs Greco took it and held it in her lap.

"He didn't come back," she said, "I've never remarried. Didn't care to."

I swallowed thickly and Sam spoke for the both of us. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be," Mrs Greco retorted, "I've done all right. Really, I have."

I was slow to nod. "And what about Ben?" I said. "Did he ever mention his family? A girlfriend?"

She shook her head. "No... Ben had some troubles," she said.

I frowned. "Troubles?"

"With going outside and the like. He was afraid. Worked from home and got his groceries delivered. I think he was one of those phobic people. You know the ones I mean?"

"I think so," I said.

"Well, we never talked about it or anything," she told me, "But I worried about him. It's no way to live. I knew something was wrong when he wasn't home. I just _knew _it." She pressed a frail hand to her forehead, the other still clutching at the photo frame. Her eyes shone pink and I felt my own begin to sting around the edges.

"And you didn't notice anything unusual before that? People coming to the apartment, maybe?" asked Sam.

Mrs Greco shook her head. "No. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he said.

"It just… doesn't make any sense," she whispered, "Why him? He never hurt anybody. So, why him?"

I had deliberately skirted around the finer details of what actually happened. And I couldn't bear to rectify that now. Maybe it was wrong, trying to protect a woman who was probably more stable than Sam and I put together in that moment. But it was all I could think to do.

"I don't know," I said.

/

We left a short while later. Mrs Greco stopped us at the door and took our hands again, clutched them almost too tightly. "You just take care of each other, you two," she said. And then it was over before we could respond. We were on the other side of the door again.

"What now?" Sam said.

I shook my head. "I have no idea."

Back in the car we sat for long moments before I found it in me to start the engine. I was about to ease away from the curb when Sam put his hand on my arm and stopped me. "They're here," he said.

My brow furrowed. "Who are?"

"Those cops," he told me, gesturing toward a brown car on the opposite side of the street.

"_Shit_," I whispered. "D'you think they're gonna arrest me?"

Sam breathed a laugh and shook his head. "I think they would've done it already. They're just watching you."

"_Watching _me?" I said.

"Uh-huh. Like, making sure you're safe."

My frown only deepened. "But… he said-"

"People say a lot of stuff, Britt," he cut me off, "Most of the time it's bullshit."

I looked out at the car again, watched the rain pound the windshield, then back at Sam. "People are nice, aren't they?" I murmured. "Mostly."

Sam paused before shrugging. "Mostly, I guess."

/

"What are you doing?" said Sam.

"Hm?" I glanced back up at the windshield to make sure the other cars hadn't started moving again. We were stuck ten minutes from home, right in the middle of all the diverted traffic from the Parkway and it didn't look like it was going to budge any time soon.

"You keep checking your phone. You've been doing it all day," he said.

"Oh," I frowned. "Yeah… Santana said she was gonna call me when she finished work, but… she didn't," I mumbled.

"To talk about Jess?" he said.

I gave a soft shrug. "I dunno. Maybe."

"So… not about the two of you?"

I glanced over at him but all he did was raise his eyebrows at me. "I… Probably not," I stammered.

"Do you want her to?"

"I don't know," I said. "Should I?"

Sam's lips parted silently for just a moment. He blinked at me. And then his face twitched. "Well… no. I don't think you _should _want anything," he said. "I just wondered."

I shrugged at him. "I don't know what any of the things I feel mean anymore. Even good things," I said.

Sam swallowed audibly and looked away from me, toward the webs of rain on his window. "Okay," he said, "That's okay."

/

We were quiet until we were moving again. The radio went fuzzy and Sam pounded it a couple of times with his fist. "Piece of crap," he muttered under his breath.

I looked quickly at him and then back at the road. "Are you mad at me?" I asked.

"For what?" he said.

I waited until we'd finally turned onto our street before I shook my head. "I don't know," I mumbled. "Just… anything."

"I'm not mad," he said. "I don't understand why it had to be her… but I'm not mad."

I bit the corner of my lip. "When I'm with her I can't help it," I told him.

"Can't help what?"

I shook my head. "I don't know," I said, "But I don't think she can either." I _knew _she couldn't. It was the only thing I didknow for sure.

I heard Sam sigh. "You just gotta be careful, you know? Is she even _allowed _to get involved with you?"

"I don't think so," I said, the words brittle on my tongue. I didn't like thinking about that part of it. "But it happened before we had to have rules and stuff. She was helping us before she had to, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember," he said. "And I'm not…" Sam trailed off, the rest of his sentence hanging in the air. And when he didn't pick it back up I stole another glance at his face. "What the hell?" he said, his forehead lines sinking into his skin.

I instinctively looked back at the street and my heart began to beat in my throat, uncomfortable like a pill that wouldn't go down. I slammed the breaks on too hard, pain reverberating up my leg. "Who're they?" I said. I glanced in my rear view mirror to check that Bell and Harris were still behind us, but their car was stationary, too, the two of them already halfway out the doors and onto the waterlogged sidewalk. I watched them jog past us like they'd forgotten we were there. And then something cold hit my face. Sam had flung his door open.

"Where're you going?" I said, but he didn't answer.

* * *

**a/n: I promise to make up for the lack of Santana in the next chapter! ;) **


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